


Very Nearly

by ohwise1ne



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies with benefits?, Except they're not exactly friends, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Non-Linear Narrative, Phone Sex, Possessive Kylo Ren, Reynal, Rimming, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Spanking, office rivals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwise1ne/pseuds/ohwise1ne
Summary: Rey despises Ben Solo with every ounce of her being—except for when they’re fucking. Though she’s pretty sure she still hates him then too.At least, that’s what she tells herself.





	1. not quite kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slipgoingunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipgoingunder/gifts).



> This garbage leapt from me, fully-formed, in the space of an hour last night. Viva la reynal revolution.
> 
> Dedicated to slip, reylo's biggest butt stuff advocate.
> 
> Note: This story is going to be a place for me to fill some filthy prompts starring two office enemies that can't keep off each other. It's not going to follow a traditional linear narrative, though some plot might sneak in along the way. Basically, this is going to be a lot of porn with not a lot of context. I hope you enjoy!

“Is — is it in yet?”

Behind her, the heavy sound of Solo’s breathing fills the room. He hovers, utterly still, directly above her body. Splitting her open.

“No.” The word is wrenched from him. Squeezed and strangled along the way, so that it comes out too rough.

Okay. All right. She can do this. Even if it feels like her body is actually cleaving in half. Even if it feels like she is not, perhaps, built to take an object of this size. At least not _there._ For a moment of wild panic, she wonders if maybe she is too small for this. If he might run up against the end of her before he’s even halfway inside – and then laugh derisively at her for her inadequacy.

If he might leave.

“Do you think it’s going to fit?”

Her voice is equally unrecognizable. It’s higher than she’s used to. Laced with air, like the words are pushed out in a rush.

Solo makes a sound that’s – almost like a whine. “Yes.” His mouth slides against the damp skin of her nape. When it reaches her burning ear, the heat of his breath washes over her. Making her shiver. “Let me show you.”

The way he starts moving inside her – she knows he’s not really fucking her yet. That she’s only taking a small portion of him. But it’s… overwhelming. His thrusts are shallow, but she feels him slide along every single part of her. Lighting up nerves that she didn’t even know existed.

“That’s it.” Breathless encouragement against her neck, and Rey realizes she is whimpering. That her hands are clasping and unclasping at her pillows. “You’re taking me so _good_ , sweetheart. But you need to – ah –  _relax_.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” she whines, but her body can’t seem to stop clenching around him. "And don't – don't call me that." She can’t tell if it’s trying to push him out, or draw him deeper – but it makes him groan incoherently, and fuck if that doesn’t make her wet.

She is very wet, she realizes. Dripping. Not because he’s already fucked her with his fingers (and Solo knows exactly how to make her come so quickly that way, his thumb rubbing back and forth across her clit, his fingers pumping and curling and stroking that place _just there_ ) but because the slow drag of his cock in this part of her body seems to be propelling her into an entirely new realm of pleasure. Like she’s discovered a whole other dimension that’s been lurking just out of sight. A slight shift to the left. Or to the back, as it were.

On the next push, something in her gives. A long, toe-curling slide (and it’s only a few moments, but to Rey it feels like an infinity of deeper, fuller, _too much it’s very nearly too much)_ and he is suddenly, blissfully inside her. His hips flush to her trembling backside.

_“Fuck.”_

Rey’s not sure who says it. She has never been so full of anything. Not even the first time they fucked – when he had her cunt three times in a single night, and each time Rey thought she wouldn’t be able to take anymore but _god_ she had taken and taken until her body was overflowing with pleasure. She thought he was big then, too. _Huge,_ is actually the word that slipped out the first time he unbuttoned his slacks – to her immense irritation and his immense satisfaction.

She loves how big he is, almost as much as she hates him every other second of the day.

But when he is… here. In this part of her. This _deep._ Rey is sure the shape of him will never completely leave her.

“You’re – tight.” Solo’s voice is even more strained than before. As if the squeezing grip of her body makes it difficult for him to draw air as well. “Fuck, Rey. It – it feels – is it…” He takes a ragged breath. “How is it?”

Rey’s thighs tremble, her hands so tight in the pillow that the sheet is stretching at the edges. “You’re – a lot.”

“Am I?” Fuck. That was the wrong answer. He nearly purrs with satisfaction, leaning down to nose her hair again. “Does it feel _good_ , sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that." The command is too breathy and lacks any authority, with his dick lodged completely up her ass and her face hotter than she’s ever felt it.

One of his hands moves from her hips – they’ve been firmly planted there ever since he started pushing into her body – and skitters across her stomach. Between her legs. Rey makes a needy sound and buries her face in the pillow.

“But you’re so _wet.”_ His fingers move lazily through the heat of her. She feels each pass like an electric shock, vibrating up her spine. “I think you like when I call you that.”

She tries to tell him to fuck off, but his thumb finds her clit and the words get broken up, swallowed by some shameful noise she hardly realizes is coming from her own throat.

“Or do you just like how it feels, with my cock in your ass?” A fingertip circles the perimeter of her empty cunt, and Rey gasps. “You like this, Rey. Being stuffed.”

His hand is at her mouth, pressing her wetness between her lips. Rey moans around the intrusion.

“Here’s the truth, _sweetheart.”_ He begins to withdraw, just as his fingers press down against her tongue. “Taste it for yourself. You want me to fill every part of you.”

It was overwhelming, when he was simply seated inside her body, stretching her. But his first thrust — it _devastates_ her. Rey mewls around his fingers, the tremor starting in her legs and rippling up her entire body. For one terrifying moment, she thinks her knees might give out — but then he is there, holding her, arm wrapped around her stomach and pulling her flush against him.

“Good?” His voice at her ear is — tentative. Vulnerable, even. It makes Rey wish she could see his face. It makes her wish a lot of things that she won’t allow herself to think about, with this man.

But that doesn’t stop her from nodding tightly. Her chin brushes against his fingers, which have slipped out of her mouth to curl, possessive, along her jaw.

“Good,” she whispers.

It’s almost tender, the way he nuzzles her neck. The not-quite-kisses that he presses into her hair. They're not supposed to kiss. That was one of the many boundaries they set, when they started this insane, terrible, wonderful thing. It's also one of the only boundaries they haven't crossed. Not completely.

But sometimes, Solo lets his mouth move across her skin like he's worshipping her. Like their interactions at the office don't regularly deteriorate into shouted insults and slammed doors — like he doesn't spend most of his day doing everything he can to undermine all that she's worked for.

Solo's lips find her ear. It's achingly gentle, the way they open and close along the shell of it. Like he is leaving something there.

Rey can almost pretend he doesn't hate her.

"Good," he says again.

The arm around her chest hoists her upwards – a brutish motion that makes her breath hitch at the way he moves even _deeper_ in her body. And then she's properly on her hands and knees again, like he arranged her when they first started here tonight.

"Let's see if we can make it even better, hmm?"

That's all the warning she gets before he starts moving again. Sliding along each one of a thousand new nerves that have been awakened by this – by _him_ – and then sliding back in again. Her body _spasms,_ and she understands now that it's definitely not trying to push him out – that she wants to pull him in as deep as she can take him and deeper still. That she can't get enough of this feeling – this _fullness_ – as though she is bulging with the thickness of him. And he might be a little too big... but that's only because she made him get that way.

The thought has her gasping wetly into the pillow. The embroidery begins to blur as he starts to move faster, his fingers so tight around her hip that she'll notice the purpling shape of them after her shower tomorrow morning. She secretly cherishes the marks he leaves on her body. Proof that Ben Solo in editorial doesn't completely despise her, no matter the dark and furious looks he throws her in the hall.

"I told you," he pants in her ear. "You were made for this, Rey. For me to fuck you. Anywhere I want."

Rey might be agreeing with him, when she responds. She might be saying anything at all.

"You look so good, taking me." He's leaning back, and Rey realizes it's so that he can look at them. At the place where they're joined. "Wish you could see. Your little hole – the way it's – _fuck_ – stretching around me. _God_ , that's hot."

The thought makes her dizzy. She is overwhelmed. Whining. Clawing at the blankets. He is terribly good at doing this to her – at breaking her until she is something wanton and shameless and completely unrecognizable.

And perhaps that's why she obeys, when he hisses, "Tell me you love this."

"I do." Rey can hear the words before she understands that she's speaking them. "I do, Ben, I do – I really do –"

His cock is a deep pressure, sliding in and out. It is torture along the ring of her entrance, ultra-sensitive and gripping the length of him with each pass. Hungry.

"Are you going to come, sweetheart?" His voice is deceptively sweet, for the way he's begun to pound into her. The only tell is the slight hitch in his words, the breath that sneaks into his tone. "What a pretty little ass you have. Are you going to come with my cock inside it?"

"I want to," Rey barely manages.

"Ask me to come."

It usually takes more coaxing for her to obey this one. Solo likes doing this. Teasing her, building her up to the brink and then flexing his power over her. A heady display of dominance.

This time, it doesn't take any coaxing at all.

"Please," she starts to babble, "let me come, it'll feel so good while you're – while you're –"

His hand travels between her legs again. Rey _quakes._

"So polite for me, when I have you naked and whining." He cups her throbbing cunt, and Rey whines for him without meaning to. "So perfect. Bet you'll feel so good around me, sweetheart, when you – _fuck_ – _when you –"_

Solo begins to roll her clit between her fingers, and a few moments later, she lets him find out.

Afterward, he takes his sweet time pulling out of her. Rey feels oddly hollow when he leaves her. The sensation of his cum trickling down her ass is – odd. Warm. Not completely unwelcome.

"God." Solo flips her over deftly. Like she weighs nothing. It's one of the things she'll never tell him that she likes – how strong he is. How he manhandles her the way he wants to, tossing her around the bed and the couch and the conference room where they fool around. It would only inflate his swollen ego, if he knew all the things she likes about him.

But he is also tender sometimes. His too-large hands arrange her so gently when he wants them to. This is one of those moments, as he settles beside her on the bed – bare leg thrown possessively over her thighs, fingers trailing up and down her stomach.

He is doing that thing again with his mouth that is definitely _not_ kissing – kissing is absolutely, positivity not allowed – but moving along her skin. Light, fleeting movements that leave her breathless in a different way. His lips linger at the slight curve of her breast, her throat – and finally, hover just above her mouth.

"Tell me we'll do that again."

It's not even a question anymore, that they'll meet like this after work. It's usually once a week, but sometimes they find themselves here _(here,_ warm bodies and not-kisses and his voice low and quiet) a lot more often if they have a particularly nasty disagreement over an article. Rather, he is referring to the boundary they just crossed. The _I don't do butt stuff_ requirement Rey had laid out that first day, shoved up against a closet door, head spinning as she tried to think of the walls that would fence in the terrible decision they were about to make.

She supposes, now, that she does butt stuff after all.

"Only if you stop calling me sweetheart." Rey means to sound irritated. She really does. Nothing like the playful, breathless tone that the words take on instead.

"Only when you stop enjoying it. _Sweetheart."_ She swears she can feel how triumphant he is. Like it's a physical change in the air, rolling off his smug, stupid face.

When he leans forward to brush his mouth against hers, the lightest of touches, Rey decides they've already crashed through several of her boundaries today anyway.

She kisses him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my very first m/f anal scene!!! Your feedback would mean the world to me.
> 
> To my regular readers – the final chapter of the cat ficlet is coming in the next few days, followed by an update to Little Thieves. Thanks for your patience while I work out my anal bullshit.
> 
> You can find me on the [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne%22).


	2. seven minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has a special request for Rey while he's away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed these two so much that I've decided to fill my drabble prompts with them when I can. They won't necessarily be in chronological order, so I'll leave it up to you to decide when they occur.
> 
> This is in response to a Curious Cat about phone sex.

"Do you remember what I told you?"

To anyone else, he might sound casual. Flippant, even. But Rey can discern the threat that is laced through the words like a near-invisible thread.

She needs to adjust the phone at her shoulder, fidgeting. "I remembered."

"And did you listen?"

There's no mistaking the weight his voice carries now, even over the tinny speaker. It clearly communicates the danger in store for her, should she provide him with the wrong answer.

Luckily, the answer is undeniable – an insistent, almost uncomfortable pressure, lodged right in her core.

"I did."

"Good girl."

The sound of his voice saying that – it does things to her. It always does. She both hates and loves how much it affects her, those two simple, stupid words.

"Push up your skirt."

"What–?"

"Your skirt, Rey. Push it up your thighs."

"I'm in your office," she hisses, stealing a glance at the door. "Someone could come in–"

"I know where you are." He is speaking so calmly. Like explaining something to a child. "You're sitting in my chair. Like I told you to. Now push up your skirt."

No way. There is no way she is doing that. "Okay," she tells him, trying to sound convincing. "I did it."

"You know I don't like it when you lie. Are you trying to make me angry, Rey?"

She likes being defiant, sometimes, if only just to hear him sound like that. But right now – Solo has more power over her than she normally lets him. That pressure, stretching her down below, is a terrifying reminder of that.

"Fine." Inhaling deeply, her fingers find her skirt. No one will see should they come in, with the desk reaching all the way to the floor. But Rey still feels enormously vulnerable, her skirt shoved up her thighs, sitting alone in the office of a man that everyone thinks she despises.

She definitely despises him now.

"You're getting mouthy without me around."

"I thought you liked my mouth."

"I like it when it's full of my cock. Not when it's being petulant."

"Too bad you're so far away." Rey leans back in his chair. Why is his chair so much nicer than hers, anyway? She wonders when she could swap them without anyone noticing. "You could have it both ways."

"I'll have it my way," Solo tells her darkly, "whether I'm between your legs or in Singapore. Take off your underwear."

The shift in his tone puts every cell in Rey's body on high alert. She sits straight up in the chair, fingers sliding beneath her skirt before she's even fully processed the command. The lace tickles as she pulls them down her thighs. Over each of her heels. The pressure inside her shifts deliciously with the movement.

"Now put them in the drawer."

Her mouth drops open. "No way."

"Rey." His voice is soft with warning. "You're being very disobedient today."

"These are a good pair."

"I'll buy you another. The top drawer. Put them in there."

Rey swallows. It is the first time he has offered to buy her anything. It seems like it would be a crossing another boundary, somehow, to let him spend money on her – and isn't that a little crazy, considering all the other things they've done together.

She opens his top drawer. "You have little boxes for your paper clips." Frowning, she leans forward. "And your rubber bands. Who does that?"

"I like to keep things neat. Not all of us enjoy digging around for a working pen." He sounds a little offended. It nudges him out of the persona he's been affecting.

"You seem to have a real system here." Rey opens the little plastic boxes – color-coded, because Ben Solo is _very_ extra – and starts to mix some paper clips in with the rubber bands. "Are you sure you want me to mess it up?"

"Yes." His voice has dropped low again. Heavy with authority. Rey's stomach flutters. "I'm sure."

Rey bunches her underwear in her hand – cream, with blue lace – and adds them to the mess in the drawer.

It clicks shut. "I did it."

"Good."

Rey leans back again. Lets out a slow breath. Outside, the muted noise of laughter floats through his closed door as a group of people passes. She wishes she could glare at his smug, stupid face, but she has to settle for scowling at his perfectly arranged desk instead. "You're a little weird sometimes. Making me leave those here... it's weird."

"It gives me something to look forward to when I'm home. A reminder of how I made you come all over my chair today, with just the sound of my voice."

Her body – it _clenches_ around the toy lodged deep inside her. Nudging at her g-spot. She is very glad he can't see that way she's blushing. "Is that what we're doing here?"

"It is." His answer is so matter-of-fact. "Now push your skirt all the way up your thighs. So you can see your pretty little cunt when you look down at your lap."

"I don't need to see it," she hisses.

"Don't make me keep repeating myself."

She grits her teeth and obeys. She feels very naked like this. Bare and hot against the air conditioning.

"How does it feel?"

"High of seventy-two here today. A little breezy."

"It's going to be quite sore, when I'm done with it." He speaks the words softly, almost to himself. "God, I wish I could fuck you right now."

Rey's voice quavers a little. "I need to get back to work, Solo."

"You still have seven minutes until your break is finished."

"You're going to make me come in seven minutes?"

"I'm going to make you come much sooner than that."

She hates everything about this man. But she especially hates the way he can make her squirm without even laying a finger on her.

"Spread your legs."

With a long exhale, she parts her thighs. Rey isn't sure if it's the sound of his murmured directions, or the fact that he made her strip her underwear – but each motion seems amplified now. She can feel every small shift of the toy inside her like tiny shockwaves, reverberating through her body.

"Tell me how it looks. The way it's stretching you."

It's a pretty thing. Pink and smooth. The silicone extends from her entrance, which grips at it like it's hungry, and flattens along the rest of her. Cupping it, like a hand.

"Not as big as you would be," she says sweetly. She wouldn't normally indulge him like this. God knows his ego is big enough without her coaxing. But because he's not here, she decides the benefits of teasing him would outweigh the ego trip.

He rewards her with a groan that Rey feels all the way in her fingernails. "That's right. But you'll have to make do."

Unintentionally, she's begun to trace the shape of the thing, the way it presses against her clit. "I haven't taken it out."

"That's my girl."

"I'm not your girl."

"Turn it on."

Rey nearly jumps out of the chair. "What?"

"You brought the remote, didn't you?"

Her fingers find it in her blazer pocket of their own accord. "That's cheating," she says, heart racing. "You said you'd do it with your voice."

"I am." He sounds avid. Predatory. "And my voice is instructing you to turn it on."

Anxiously, her eyes flick to the door. To the little glass window, where fuzzy movement indicates the passage of co-workers, unsuspecting of what's taking place on the other side of the door.

Her thumb slides noncommittally over the button. "Only if you touch yourself too."

"Rey –"

"I'm not the only one making a fool of myself here." Rey bites her lip. "Take it out."

She's not sure where he is. In his hotel room, perhaps. Maybe a bathroom. Either way, she hears the distinct rustling of fabric, and then he exhales sharply.

"All right." Solo's voice is huskier than before. She imagines him holding the bulk of himself in his hand – already straining to be inside her – and her mouth waters.

"Okay." Her thumb hovers over the button. "How high?"

"The lowest setting."

"We've got six minutes now, Solo."

"You don't deserve higher than that yet."

Rey's pulse quickens. "Fine."

She presses the button, and her body comes alive.

"Oh," she breathes. "Oh, _fuck."_ Because she hasn't tried it out since he handed it to her two days ago – his instructions had been very clear about that – so until this moment she had no idea what it felt like, buzzing inside and outside and _everywhere._

"The lowest setting, Rey."

"It is," she whimpers.

"That's right. My girl is so sensitive after being so full all day, isn't she?"

She drops the remote on her lap so that she can grip the flesh of her knees. Squeezing them. "I'm - I'm not your girl."

"You're all mine for right now." Solo's voice sounds hungry, even over the phone. "Are you getting wet?"

Rey has been wet ever since she got the text to go in his office and wait for his call. "Yes."

"Are you leaking around your pretty toy? I'll have to get you a bigger one next time."

"Next time –" and oh, her voice is so breathless, the air stolen by the vibrations between her legs. "Next time you'll bend me over your desk and fuck me."

Solo groans, and her whole body pulses in response. "The next setting. Turn it up."

Her pulse thunders in her ears as she reaches for the remote. When she presses the button again, a gasp is ripped from her. The toy – it curves just so along her inner wall. So that it presses against the place that drives her so wild. She feels a bit wild right now – skirt shoved up to her waist, vibrator buzzing near-silently against the most sensitive parts of her. Sitting at the desk of Ben Solo.

Ben Solo, whose breath is coming a little quicker on the other end of the phone. "Tell me how it feels."

"It feels..." Rey isn't breathing properly either. "It – it feels good."

"You can do better than that."

She grits her teeth. "It feels – _so_ good. It was – nice, before. _Full._ But this is... this is..." It's hard to think clearly. The device is pulsating deep inside her. "Oh, fuck."

"What I wouldn't give to have you right now." Solo's voice is very low. "To kneel between your legs and fuck you with that thing."

Rey whimpers. Her fingers fist at her skirt.

"Or maybe I'll make you wear it to the next staff meeting. No one would know how wet I'm making you under your skirt. About the remote I have in my pocket."

"I wouldn't give it to you," Rey protests on a gasp.

"Oh, but I think you would." Solo is starting to sound a little breathless himself. "You like this, letting me take care of your pleasure. I take care of you so well, don't I?"

A steady flush is crawling up her body, from the back of her neck to her face. "Are you – are you touching yourself?"

"Yes." The word is more like a growl. Like he didn't mean to let it slip out. "But I'm imagining your little hands wrapped around me instead."

A picture forms in her mind, startlingly clear. Solo, in a suit that is far too expensive. Sitting on a hotel bed. He would have his slacks unzipped, his large fingers curled around his cock. Stroking it, while he thinks about her.

The image makes heat coil in her belly. She is getting close. She tells him as much – her chest heaving with the effort, her walls contracting and throbbing.

"God, I wish I could see you." Solo's voice has taken on that desperate quality it gets when he is ready to fuck her. "You always blush so pretty for me when you're about to come. Fuck. Turn it all the way up for me, sweetheart."

She doesn't even think to argue with him this time. Her fingers are shaking uncontrollably as she grasps the remote, thumb mashing the button. The noise she makes is so long and so loud she nearly forgets where she is.

"That's it," Solo hisses. "Let the whole office hear you. They should know who you belong to."

_"Ben –"_

"The minute I'm home, I'm going to find you. I'm going to put you in my car and drive you to my apartment. And then I'm going to fuck you for three days straight."

Rey's not sure if it's this strange promise and all the importance it holds – they've never stayed the night, and certainly not for three days in a row – or if it's the insistent thrum of the vibrator, a twin chorus of sensation so intense that she feels the pleasure building all the way in her teeth. Or maybe it's his voice, so urgent and needy, just on this side too rough. The hitch in his breath as his body jerks with the movement of his arm. Pleasuring himself to the sound of her whimpers.

Rey grips the desk and lets her orgasm rip through her.

When the haze begins to lift, she hears him panting on the phone. His breathing is slowing down, the way it does after he's climaxed. Rey usually experiences this detail through the sensation of his chest pressed to her cheek, rising and falling at a gradually slower pace.

She finds, unexpectedly, that she misses it. The warmth and softness of his skin. His fingers, sifting through her hair as they both come back to earth. She's not sure if she even noticed these things until now, when she doesn't have them to accompany her descent.

"Three minutes."

The sound of Solo's voice startles her as she switches off the vibrator. "What?"

"You still have three minutes, Ms. Sanders. On your break."

"How considerate of you." Rey straightens her skirt. It's a wrinkled mess. She finds she doesn't mind.

"I'd like to... call you again." Solo sounds unexpectedly hesitant. "Tonight. If you're not busy."

Rey sits straight up in the chair. This phone call, just now, is the first she's heard from him since he left for Miami two days ago. They don't do phone calls. They don't do anything beyond these strange, charged encounters that have somehow transformed into an almost daily occurrence over the past six months.

"Yeah," she hears herself saying. Her heart flutters, and she's not sure why. "Sure."

"You won't be busy?"

"No. I won't."

"Good." She can almost hear the way he smiles, a slow curl of his lips. "Great. I'll call you at 9. If you're not busy."

"I won't be," she says again.

"We'll have a lot longer than seven minutes this time."

A shiver races down her spine, and she smiles. "We will."

Before they hang up, Rey almost tells him that she misses him.

She figures she'll save that boundary for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to head over to my [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ohwise1ne) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne) if you want to send me more prompts. Thank you so much for reading and leaving your encouragement.


	3. cashmere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Rey goes to his apartment, it's only because she has no other choice.

The first time Rey goes to his apartment, it's only because she has no other choice.

This is what she tells herself, anyway, glare fixed firmly in place as she rides the elevator up to the 35th floor. She is preparing to keep her expression this way, for the inevitable moment when he opens his apartment door. She doesn't usually have trouble glaring at him – the trouble more often is to keep her dislike from rolling off her like a stench, especially around clients. But everything has become uncertain these past few weeks, ever since he started getting her off in the spare conference room and the empty fourth floor office and that one time beside the cleaning supplies in the custodian's closet. The mops had all clattered to the floor, when he was finished with her.

The lift slides open, and Rey steels herself to remain as hard as the marble that covers the floors in this ridiculously excessive apartment building.

But when Solo opens the door... well, Rey discovers she is utterly unprepared after all.

It’s not her fault. He has ambushed her, coming to his door and looking like… _this._ He is usually wearing one of his many too-expensive suits when she sees him at the office. In Rey's opinion (and she has a _lot_ of opinions on Ben Solo, if anyone is brave enough to ask her) it is a mark of how pretentious this man is, that he feels the need to clothe himself in fabric cash. But she now knows from experience how silky the material is, how well it clings to the considerable bulk of his shoulders and chest. Even as he indulges in more physical activities.

When he opens the door tonight, however, Solo is not in a suit. And that is exactly where all of her problems start. Because the cream sweater, the dark wash jeans — they pour over his large body like something liquid. He looks positively mouthwatering, leaning against the doorframe.

And god damn him, the quirk of his lips suggests he knows exactly how delectable she finds him right now.

"Sanders. I didn't think you'd actually come."

"If you'd have just come back to the office, I wouldn't have needed to."

Solo folds his arms. "My responsibilities far outweigh whatever it is you had planned tonight."

There it is. A hard punch to the stomach to remind her exactly why she shouldn't climb this man like a tree. "Here." Rey digs the proofs out of her bag a little too aggressively before thrusting them in his direction. "Forgot who I was speaking to for a moment. I'll let you get back to all your responsibilities."

He does not take the file. Something flickers over his face. "You're not leaving yet. I need your assistance while I review these."

“Suddenly care about my expert opinion now, do you?"

"I care about efficiency," he tells her matter-of-factly. "It will be far more effective to inform you of your mistakes if we are working in the same space."

God. She can't _stand_ this man. "You know it's too late to put in for any major design changes."

"Then I'm sure you made certain that no major design changes will be necessary." Solo steps to the left, still not taking the file. "Inside."

Solo’s apartment is exactly how she imagined it would be. Untouched and impeccable, like no one even lives here. Everything is too neat. Too precisely arranged. It resembles a model they probably display to prospective buyers at one of those luxury condo complexes by the river. Not that Rey’s ever had a reason to set foot in such a place.  
  
He leads her down a long hallway that opens up into a grand dining room. It is just as sleek as the rest of his apartment. “Have you ever actually eaten in here?"  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“I'm starting to think you broke into someone else's flat and gave me their address." Rey squints at the spotless table. "Or that you scrubbed this entire place from top to bottom before I got here."  
  
When she looks back up at him, she is astonished to find that the tips of his ears have gone red. “Not all of us live in filth."  
  
"I don't live in filth."  
  
"You're forgetting that I've seen your desk."  
  
He's seen a lot more of her than that. But Rey absolutely is not thinking about those particular details right now, with Ben Solo in his cashmere sweater that is definitely a size too small for him, his hair tousled and too long and thoroughly touchable.  
  
She reminds herself to glare. "Are you planning to have a look at these proofs, or did you want to keep trading insults for a while?"  
  
"Those weren't insults." Solo actually has the nerve to look offended. "We are in the business of truth. You should recognize a fact when you see one."  
  
Rey thinks she might slap him. She's not sure what it is about this man that makes her so violent. Or so physical. "I have somewhere to be, Solo. I don't have time to stand here and listen to you belittle me all night long."

“If I planned to keep you here all night, I'm sure I could find a much better use for you than that."

He moves toward her as he speaks, so that he's standing directly in front of her. Close enough that she can smell his cologne.

Rey tries to remember to glare. It's hard, with her breath coming a little faster. Filling her head with that musky scent he wears. "As if I would stay here any longer than necessary."  
  
"I might not let you leave," he murmurs. "We have a lot of proofs to go over."  
  
"If you had stayed at the office with the rest of us, there wouldn't be so many."  
  
Solo tilts his head. "Pity."  
  
His mouth is very close, hovering above her lips. Rey can taste each puff of his breath between them. It's warm. A little sweet.  
  
She wonders if his tongue would taste like that too.  
  
Solo snatches the folder from her hand. It leaves her fingers easily, she discovers, because this whole business of Ben Solo in cashmere, hovering right over her, has her entire body feeling a bit weak. Solo takes a step back. Smirking.  
  
God _damn_ this man. Straight to hell.

He pulls out a chair, and a beat passes before Rey realizes it's for her. "Sit."

"I didn't know you were such a gentleman."

His eyes flash. "I'm not."

Right. Of course he's not. Would a gentleman shove her up against the brick wall beside the office dumpster and rub her off through her underwear?

The chair scrapes across the floor as Solo seats himself beside her. She can feel his body like an electric presence to her left. Too close, and vibrating with an energy that Rey feels buzzing beneath her own skin.

Solo is already laying out the contents of the folder across the black glass of the table. "The front page feature," he says coolly. "I don't like it. I want you to to swap it with the story on page three."

Rey's stomach plummets. She and her team had spent several days on that design. "Are you insane?" She holds up the glossy page so that the evidence of her hard work shimmers in the overhead light. "You couldn't have told me about this two days ago? Yesterday, even?" Her blood is beginning to boil. "Publication is tomorrow, Solo. This is going to take _days_ to revamp — we don't even have a suitable image from that photoshoot to use — this is going to have a ripple effect through the layout of the entire issue — there is no _way_ we can possibly —"

"Rey." He is looking at her now, both brows raised. "It was a joke."

The contents of her next several minutes of ranting rush out of her lungs on an exhale. "A _joke?"_

"A statement of humor. Intended to provoke amusement."

"I know what a joke is." Rey doesn't need to remind herself to scowl this time. "Do I look like I'm amused?"

Solo's dark eyes glitter. "I certainly am."

"Well I'm not laughing."

"I've never seen you laugh."

"I laugh plenty," Rey snaps. "Just not around you."

For some reason, this causes him to frown deeply. "I suppose I'm not very funny."

"No. You aren't." But the words lack the venom she meant to inject, faltering in the face of the unexpected vulnerability in his expression. She pauses. "Well, except for that one time. When you kept swapping Hux's Vader coffee mug for the Jar Jar one. That was pretty funny."

Miraculously, Solo's lip quirks into something that could almost resemble a smile. "I thought so too."

This is strange, whatever is happening between them right now. Way too far from their typical interactions — at either end of the spectrum. It makes Rey feels lost at sea and more than a little uncomfortable, so she clears her throat. "Got any other great jokes about my designs that you want to get out of the way?"

"No." Solo doesn't even look at the proofs, still laid out across the table. She wishes he wouldn't stare at her like that. "They're very well done. Just like the rest of your work."

The compliment is — unexpected. "You haven't even looked at them."

"Phasma emailed me the final pdf before she left."

"Then why did you make me come here?"

He is still staring at her. Unreasonably close. She should be furious right now that he's disrupted her evening for no other reason than to trick her into coming to his home. She should be very, very angry.

But it's hard to remember to glare with Solo's ears are turning pink like that. "I preferred to go over them together," he says quietly.

"I think you just wanted an excuse to get me alone in your apartment."

The words tumble out of her before Rey has time to think them over. Bold and fast. Too much like an accusation — or maybe not enough. They make the tension that's been slowly building in the air around them snap taut, like a rope with no more give.

Rey wonders if this is the moment where their unlikely tryst will finally fall apart. This was always such an impossible proposition in the first place, with who they are. With how deeply they despise each other. It was never supposed to be anything more than a quick way to dissolve the infuriating tension between them. Not something that involved late-night house visits. _Especially_ not something that involved the way he's looking at her right now. Tense, and guarded, and maybe a little hopeful.

"Maybe I did." He utters the words like a dare.

Rey is still glaring. She's sure she's still glaring. "That would be highly unprofessional of you, Solo."

"Would it be?"

"Um. Yes. Luring a colleague to your flat so that you can..." She trails off.

"So that I can... what?"

A hot blush creeps up her neck. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I'm afraid I don't." Solo's got that look in his eye now. The one that makes her feel like a small animal, trapped in a hunter's cage. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Are we going to pretend it hasn't been happening now?"

"I'm not the one who can't even say the words."

"Because you can?"

He leans forward, eyes very dark. "You're talking about the days that you're wound up so tight, you need me to drag you to the nearest empty room and make you come all over those pretty little dresses you torture me with." He tilts his head. "Is that right?"

It's bad enough that he says things like this to her at the office, where it leaves her too hot to concentrate. It's even worse here, in his apartment, where there is absolutely nothing to stop him from doing that over and over again. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm talking about." Rey tries to glare right into his very smug, very handsome face. "Extremely unprofessional."

"I disagree. I see it as my responsibility."

 _"Excuse_ me?"

"I know how hard it gets for you. Trying to focus on your work when you need so badly to be taken care of." The way he's looking at her — it's like his eyes pierce straight through her. "I can tell exactly when you need it, too. The way you keep pressing your thighs together. Imagining my hand between them."

Solo touches her knee, and Rey — it's very hard for her to keep glaring like this. When he is unraveling her in that way he does, like everything is spilling out of her with nowhere else to go.

"You're imagining it now," he says softly. "I can tell."

Rey clenches her teeth. "I still don't see how this is professional."

"It's my responsibility," Solo tells her again. "How are you supposed to keep working when you're so distracted by the way I could be filling you up instead?"

He leans forward, so that his mouth is at her ear and his hand slides up her thigh.

"I take my responsibilities _very seriously,_ Rey."

It's the first time he's called her that. Rey is so surprised that she doesn't respond in time for his fingers to find her underwear. She lets out a soft sound at the gentle pressure of them, sliding up and down along the fabric.

"Look at you. So wet already."

"Am not," she breathes out, gripping the chair.

"I think _you're_ the unprofessional one, Ms. Sanders. Coming into my home wrapped up in that dress like a tasty little treat. Soaking through your underwear before you've even sat down."

His touch is growing a bit rougher through the fabric. "I wouldn't be so wet if you didn't start — talking like that."

"You like how I talk to you. You told me so, just the other day." God _damnit_. She knew she would regret saying that. "But I know something you like even more."

With two fingers, he pulls the crotch of her underwear aside, so that the air hits her bare skin and floods out of her lungs at the same time.

"Look at you," Solo croons. "I can hardly focus when you're like this either." He parts her folds with one large finger, and Rey makes a high-pitched, embarrassing noise. "You've been thinking about this since I told you to come here, haven't you?"

Rey wants to tell him _no._ Absolutely not. But she would be lying if the idea didn't cross her mind at least once, after he texted his address that afternoon. And about a thousand more times since he opened his door in that damn cashmere sweater.

Because they _are_ alone here. With no one to interrupt them, and nothing to stop them from taking this a little further. The thought holds such terrifying promise that Rey doesn't push him away when his mouth starts to drag along her throat.

"Yes," she breathes, when his fingers find her clit.

"I know exactly how you like it, Rey,” he murmurs. “No one else."

It isn't fair, because it's true. It isn't fair at all that he's the only person who knows how to do these things to her.

Rey pushes her chair away from the table so abruptly that it rattles against the floor. Blinking up at her, Solo looks as though he’s coming out of a stupor. His mouth has grown red from its ministrations along her throat. When he notices that Rey is rising to her feet, his expression falls.

"What's wrong?" His voice is nearly a croak. "Did I do something wrong?"

Rey doesn't answer him. Instead she steps between him and the table, so that she is trapped between his legs. A surprisingly not unpleasant place to be — especially with the way he's gaping up at her like that.

"It's not fair," she murmurs, "that you know all these things about me. I want to make you fall apart too."

His throat moves with a swallow as she runs her hands down his sweater. The fabric is just as sinfully soft as it looks. "You don't need to try very hard, to make me do that." He almost sounds bitter.

“But I want to. Why should you get to have all the fun?”

When she drops to her knees, Solo lets out a low groan. “Sanders…”

“Solo.” She runs her hands up the firm muscle of his thighs. He’s built like a house, this man. How much time can he possibly spend at the gym with all the hours he puts in at the office?

“This isn’t why I asked you to come here.”

“Do you have to argue about _everything?_ Or is it just with me?”

It really isn’t fair, the more that she thinks about it. How many times has he pressed his fingers inside her, curling and searching and fucking until she is shaking herself to pieces against his chest? How many times has he watched her fall apart – without giving her the same courtesy?

She suddenly wants to see what he looks like when he’s tipping over the edge. She wants to so badly that her mouth waters with it.

“It’s time to even things out a little,” Rey says, her fingers finding his belt.

“What – what are you talking about?”

“You, Solo. You’re the one who’s going to lose control this time.”

She begins to unzip his jeans, and the way he’s looking at her – it makes this insane idea feel a little less crazy. Like she’s a bit more in control.

But that feeling flies straight out the window as soon as she pulls him out of his jeans.

Of course, Rey has had a vague understanding of how large he is. There was no way to miss it, with him grinding it against her hip, her stomach, whenever he uses his clever fingers to work her to completion. But he’s never lingered long enough after to let her return the favor. Their encounters so far have been frenzied – his mouth whispering such filthy things in her ear as he gets her off as quickly as possible – then smirking as he straightens her skirt and leaves her, boneless and breathless, in whatever corner he’s ambushed her that day.

To see it in person, though – that’s an entirely different story.

“God.” Rey tries and fails to wrap her hand around the girth of him. Her stomach does a funny somersault. “You didn’t tell me.”

Solo’s breath is already coming a bit unsteady above her. “Tell you what?”

“That you’re –” _Too big to wrap my fingers around. Too big to fit in my mouth, never mind_ – "You’re _huge.”_

This, she sees, is an immediate mistake. His mouth is curling in that smirk again, the one that tells her she’s given him the upper hand. Even here, with his dick in her palm and his hands clenching the arms of his chair, he still has such power over her.

Rey knows exactly how to change that.

She leans forward and licks a long, hot stripe up the underbelly of him. It takes her too long to get from the base to the tip – _of course_ he would be massive, everything about the man is one gigantic pain in her ass – but it provokes the reaction she was looking for. Solo lets out a shuddering breath, his smirk melting into a small _“oh”_ of pleasure.

It’s been a while since she’s done this. Rey has never really enjoyed this particular activity, but she finds herself surprisingly enthusiastic, now that it involves getting one up on this impossible man. Now that she gets to make _him_ be the one to lose control.

And he is rapidly losing control. Of his breathing – which stutters in and out of his chest, an uneven staccato of gasps and huffs – and of his fingers, which can’t keep still at his sides. They go from gripping the chair, to his thighs, to running over his face – and in between each of these, they hover over her head, as if he wants to touch her.

Rey finds she wants him to touch her. She wants him to grasp and grab and grip at her, the way she does when he starts rolling her clit between his fingers.

When she sucks the tip of him into her mouth, Solo’s resolve starts to crumble. He clearly likes it when she flicks her tongue right underneath the firm ridge of his head, so Rey slides her tongue back and forth there. When she begins to suck in combination with this motion, Solo actually groans.

But it’s not until she begins to sink down his length, hollowing her cheeks on her way back up, that he actually cracks. The sensation of his hands sliding through her hair is the headiest triumph she’s ever experienced. Rey makes a noise around his cock that he clearly enjoys, given the way his hands tighten in her hair. So she does it again.

“Oh, _fuck,”_ he hisses, when she manages to make it more than halfway down the length of him. And when she goes a little further next time, “god, please, _yes.”_

He doesn’t shut up after that. Of course he doesn’t. Solo loves the sound of his own voice so much that it is no surprise he can’t stop talking all the way up to his orgasm. But he was right about one thing – Rey does love hearing him talk. Especially when he’s talking about how incredible she looks, kneeling between his legs – her lips stretched around the thickness of him. How _good_ her hot little mouth feels – how good she is being for him, sucking him off.

Rey wonders, if they ever wind up taking this even further, what kinds of things he would say while he was fucking her.

The thought makes her moan uncontrollably, even with her mouth still full.

He tries to warn her before he comes. She can tell he’s about to, even without the warning – his breath is coming heavier, and his grip on her hair is bordering on painful – something that almost feels shockingly good _,_ though she will unpack that particular thought later on. Right now, her mind has narrowed to a singular purpose – one that is rapidly approaching as Solo gasps out above her, sounding terrified and reverent and completely out of control: “Rey – you need to – I’m going to –”

She only takes him deeper.

His semen is hot and bitter as it floods her mouth. Rey tries to swallow it all, but it leaks out the edges of her lips as she takes him deeper and deeper still. It seems to go on much longer than necessary, but Rey finds herself strangely proud as he moans and shudders above her. His cock pulses and pulses as he empties himself down her throat. Like he can’t contain a single bit of himself for her -- like he’s been waiting to do this for _ages._

When it’s done, his fingers are smoothing over her face, cupping her jaw. Pulling him gently off of him. _“Rey...”_ He brushes his thumb against her lips – still wet with his cum – and groans helplessly. The way he’s looking at her… god. Rey begins to wonder if maybe... this was too much. If they’ve finally gone too far.

And then his hands are seizing her by the shoulders, lifting her into the air. Rey gives an indignant gasp – before he hoists her onto the edge of his table. The glass is very cool against her bare thighs.

“We’re not even.”

The shift in his demeanor, from that strange vulnerability to something predatory and lean – it makes the heat in her stomach coil like a spring. “Even?”

His palms slide up her thighs again, spreading them. When he leans between them, he drags his nose along the seam of her, straight through the damp fabric – and Rey simply can’t help herself. She lets out a wet gasp.

“I haven’t gotten to taste you yet.” He murmurs the words right at the core of her, hot and breathy and not nearly enough.

When his tongue slices through her, hot and wet and rough through her underwear, Rey actually keens.

* * *

The first time Rey goes to his apartment, she doesn’t leave for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty ill this week, but I was finally feeling well enough to write today, and basically this all came pouring out of me as soon as I was at a keyboard. I hope you enjoyed <3 
> 
> I promise that updates to my regular stories are coming soon. Thanks for bearing with me while I've dealt with all this crappy health stuff. Your messages of support have kept me going through this difficult time, and I hope this smut is a proper way to show my appreciation for you guys 😘


	4. one to ten

He finds her hovering in Poe Dameron’s cubicle. She is leaning over his shoulder, examining something on his screen.

Ben doesn't see anything beyond the curve of her hip under her dress — and where the material stops just above her knees.

“Ms. Sanders.”

Rey looks up from the computer. A delightful series of emotions flicker across her face — surprise, then desire, then carefully constructed irritation. "Solo."

Ben's frame fills the mouth of Dameron's workstation as he steps forward. "A word."

The irritation in her face is more genuine now. "I'm busy."

“Are you.”

“With all due respect, Solo,” Dameron says, not bothering to conceal his contempt, “Rey is helping me nail down these spacing issues for tomorrow’s publication.”

Ben tilts his head, his expression utterly still. "I don't believe I asked for your opinion."

"You don't need to ask. I hand them out for free."

Rey clearly senses the danger sparking in the air, because she steps between them. "Don't worry about it, Poe. I know how to handle him."

She throws Ben a sidelong look. Ben knows how to handle her, too.

When they are alone in his office, Ben closes the door behind him and flips the lock.

As soon as he turns around, Rey is there, pressing him into the door and running her hands up underneath his jacket. "I really don't have time for this right now."

"Too bad."

Ben whirls them around so that she is the one pinned to the door. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, gripping the lapels of his suit. "You're feeling rough today."

"You make me feel all sorts of ways, Ms. Sanders. Especially when you're wearing that dress."

A sly curl of her lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I think you do." Ben wraps his arms around her so that he can palm her ass through the fabric. "Or maybe you just don't remember?"

"I don't –“ she gasps in mindless agreement as he squeezes, _hard._ "I don't remember."

“We’ll have to find a way to make it stick this time.”

"Let me guess." Rey pulls back so she can fix her flushed little face in a hard glare. "It's going to involve bending me over your desk at some point."

Unable to help himself, Ben gives her a playful swat. She makes a shocked noise — but, Ben notices with some surprise, it's not entirely indignant. He doesn't miss the way her pupils dilate. The way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

Interesting.

"I don't know if you deserve that just yet, sweetheart." He leans down so that he can murmur the words against her ear. "Though I might like to see you bent over my knee instead."

And Rey — she doesn't yank away from him. She doesn't tell him to go fuck himself. In fact, she does little more than give a delicious, full-body shiver in his arms.

 _Very_ interesting.

Abruptly, Ben releases her. Walks over to his desk, where he sits calmly in his chair. Leaning against the door, Rey is quite disheveled. A little flushed. Just the way he likes her.

"Come."

Ben pushes his chair from under his desk, so that there is enough room for her on his knees. She gives him an odd look as she approaches him. When she moves to sit on his thigh, however, Ben halts her with a hand on her hip.

"No. Over my lap."

Her mouth parts. Her blush deepens. "You can't be serious."

"I am very serious."

For a moment, she only stares at him. Ben wonders if perhaps he has pushed this too far. He is considering how he could play this off as a bad joke when she takes a step toward him — and then, very slowly, bends her body over her knee.

_Fuck._

"Like this?" She turns her head to look at him. Her face is bright pink. Ben wonders if her bottom will turn the same color after a few well-deserved slaps; his cock twitches in his pants at the possibility.

"Not quite."

Grasping her by the waist, he hauls her forward so that her legs are half-dangling behind her — and her ass is high in the air, directly in the center of his lap. She squeaks.

Ben's fingers find the zipper that they both know is at the bottom of her dress — half the reason for his distraction today, that tiny piece of metal — and slowly drags it up the side. Until it's halfway up her ribcage, and he can pull the dress aside.

"There she is." Ben breathes the words out with reverence as he drinks in the sight before him. The little dimples at her lower back, leading down to the perfect curve of her. Accentuated by the scrap of blue lace that hugs each cheek like a lover.

Ben is not feeling much like a lover right now. He takes a greedy handful of her and _squeezes_.

"What are you going to do?" Her voice is trembling a little.

"You deserve a punishment, don't you think?" He can't stop touching her. "For being such a distraction in this tiny dress all day?"

"I —" She falters when he slips two fingers beneath the flimsy material of her panties, tugging sharply. The fabric cuts a straight, tight line through her slit, digging in deep. Rey gasps.

"I haven't gotten any work done all day, thinking about what's underneath this dress." He leans down a bit, so that he can speak closer to her ear. "You've been causing me a lot of trouble today, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," she breathes. Falling so easily into this role she likes to play, sweet and submissive to him. It's almost as arousing as the sight of her bottom wriggling in his lap.

"Not yet." Ben sits up again. Runs his hands down the backs of her thighs. “But you’re going to be.”

He wonders how to start this. He’s dreamed of doing this many times, of course – especially when she gets so mouthy with him in front of their co-workers. God, if only he would have known that he would have her draped over his lap like this one day. Perhaps it’s for the best. Ben is going to have a difficult time bickering with her around the office now without thinking about delivering this particular form of punishment later.

“I think you deserve ten. This first time.”

“Ten what?”

Ben gives her a smack across the rear. Almost playful. She jerks in his lap anyway with a sharp inhale.

Oh, this is going to be _fun._

“Ten of those.”

“Okay,” she says unsteadily. “Ten of those.”

“You’re going to count them for me.”

Rey turns her head to look at him suddenly, scowling. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

_Smack._

Her irritation melts into delightful shock. A tiny “oh” forms on her lips. “Fine," she says, voice considerably shakier. "So that’s two.”

“Those didn’t count.” He basks briefly in the outrage that twists her face. “That’s the rule, Ms. Sanders. If you don’t count, they don’t count.”

“But –”

_Smack!_

_”Ah!”_ He brought his hand down a little harder this time, just for the pleasure of seeing her mouth stretch with a gasp before she is too far gone to look at him anymore. “O – okay! One. That’s one.”

“Very good.” Ben takes the opportunity to rub a slow circle along her bottom. The softness of his touch following his first strikes makes her shudder in his lap. “If at any point, this is no longer enjoyable for you…” Ben needs to stop to clear his throat. “You say _falcon.”_

“I’m supposed to enjoy this?” But her voice is breathless. Tinged with excitement.

“Hmmm.” Ben gives her underwear another sharp tug and thrills at the telling patch of dampness that blossoms at her crotch. “I think you already are.”

He lets her anticipate it the next time. Places one hand on the small of her back to hold her down, and then simply waits. Not touching her. Rey's heartbeat is like the wings of a tiny bird, fluttering against his knee.

A swift motion through the air, and a satisfying snack resounds through the room. Her cheek bounces deliciously in his wake.

"Oh," she breathes, a sound made of shock more than anything else.

"What was that?"

Rey quickly remembers herself. "Two. That — that was two."

"That's right. Very good."

Ben brings his hand down on her other cheek. Still not hard enough to elicit true pain — but enough to get a delightful little wriggle. Ben feels exceptionally cruel today, so he scrunches his hand in the back of her dress and holds her fast.

"New rule. If you can't stay still, we start over."

Her head whips around again. She is nothing if not predictable, his sweet girl. "What —?! But that's not fair — you've only just told me —"

_Smack!_

He aims this one at the sensitive skin just below her ass, and Rey cuts off in a gasp.

"Don't make me keep reminding you."

"Th–Three!"

 _Smack!_ "Wrong number."

"One! One! I'm sorry!"

Ben pauses to smooth his palm over her ass. God, how he loves her ass. She is starting to shake a little, though, so he decides she needs a little soothing.

"You're doing very well, Rey. Are we going to remember our rules now?"

The tips of her ears burning bright red are the only indication of her embarrassment, now that her face is fixed firmly toward the floor. "Yes."

"Good girl." He waits until she stops trembling, hand smoothing circles over her lacy underwear. "I'm going to continue now."

Rey gives him a tight little nod. Oh, how _sweet_ she is when she's not defying him in front of the entire art department. Ben wishes he could have her like this every single day.

He aims his next smack at the center of her ass. Still not too hard. They have at least eight more to go, after all. His cock twitches at the promise.

"Two," Rey says immediately, voice very tight.

Another smack.

"Three!"

He puts a bit more force into the next one, just to watch her jump. She doesn't disappoint. But she also doesn't forget to count.

"Four!"

Her ass is starting to turn a lovely rose color now, stripes where his fingers have landed. Ben wants to lean down and sink his teeth into it. Instead, he aims the next smack so that it hits her in a spot that is already blooming red.

"F–fuck! _Oh god._ Five."

"Did I ask for the commentary, Ms. Sanders?"

She looks at him then. Her eyes are a little shiny, her teeth digging into her lower lip. "No," she says softly.

"Shall I start over?"

Her eyes grow very wide. "N–no! Please, no."

Ben doesn't think he's ever been harder in his entire life. "Hmm. But you broke the rule. How will you make it up to me?"

The poor thing looks so helpless. Then she is pushing up onto her elbows, reaching underneath her body to grasp for — oh, _fuck_ —

Ben hisses and yanks her hand away from his cock.

"Not yet," he says roughly. "You haven't earned that yet."

And Rey — god help him — she _whimpers_.

"I think, instead..." His hand creeps back over her bottom. Slides beneath the lace that stretches across it. "We're going to lose these."

Rey almost looks like she is going to talk back to him — protest the way she always does, when he takes her underwear from her. But she falters. Ben's stomach flips over pleasantly. He should have known this would be an effective way to make her obey.

Carefully, he slides the fabric over tender flesh. She holds her breath as the lace drags across her reddening skin, and Ben has to swallow when he thinks about how sore she'll be, next time she sits down. How gingerly she'll have to carry herself — remembering with each step the reason behind her discomfort.

A long, sticky string of moisture clings to the lace as he separates it from her folds. Ben suddenly needs to lick his lips.

"Little minx. You _are_ enjoying this, aren't you." The words come out on a hushed breath, tinged with awe. Once he's pulled her underwear halfway down her thighs, his fingers find her dripping cunt without his permission. Playing with it. He is hardly able to stop himself from hauling her over his desk and thrusting inside her right then and there.

Rey lets out a shuddering moan. He wonders if she's thinking the same thing.

"Are good girls supposed to enjoy their punishment, Rey?"

"I don't know," she manages tearfully. She buries her burning face in the side of his thigh.

No. That won't do at all.

"Look at me." Ben slides a hand into her hair — he is grateful she wore it loose today — and yanks. Her face is bright red. But there is no mistaking the pleasure-drunk expression that slackens her jaw.

"You fucking _love_ this," he breathes, even as her lip quivers. "I suppose you need a little more strength with your discipline."

Rey squeaks as he releases her. Her hands curl into tiny fists around the loose material of his slacks. Ben decides he will allow it.

The next swat is the strongest one so far. She yelps, her body giving a charming jerk — and then immediately stilling.

"Six," she pants out.

"Good." Ben's voice is a low purr. He can hardly recognize himself. "My good girl. Taking her punishment so well."

Rey gives him the sweetest little whimper in response.

When his hand slices through the air again — it's not only sharp enough to make her jump, but it's right at the tender juncture of thigh and ass cheek, already glowing red from a previous smack. Rey's voice catches on a sob. _"Ssss–even!"_

"That's it." Ben trails the tips of his fingers in slow, lazy patterns over her abused skin. Rey rewards him with a delectable, full-body shiver. "Just three more to go. Do you want to stop?"

His heart climbs into his throat during the silence that follows. And then, almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head. Ben feels a little dizzy with relief.

"Good, Rey. Very good." His fingers find the swollen pink skin between her thighs again. Rey makes a garbled noise as he begins to stroke. "You know that you deserve this, don't you? That I'm only doing what's best for my girl."

Ben thinks he might ascend straight to the sky when, for the first time in the entirety of their strange relationship, Rey does not protest his use of this possessive endearment. She only pushes back against his fingers, whimpering.

"P–Please. Please, Solo. I need..."

"I know," Ben croons. Utterly in his element. "I'm going to fuck you so good, sweetheart. You know I will. But first... we have some more business to attend to."

The next time his hand comes down on her, it's with a wide-open palm. The crack it makes is almost as lovely as the whine that is torn from her lips, shivery and broken as it attempts to curl around the word, " _Ahhh–eight!"_

But it's the way she squirms just so — _just there_ — right on top of his painfully hard dick that makes Ben lose his patience.

The next two come down in a flurry. Rey barely has time to eke out numbers _nine_ and _ten_ before Ben is flipping her over, lifting her in his arms so that he can kiss her deeply.

One of them is groaning — or perhaps it's both of them — and then Ben is carrying her to the couch in his corner. He would love nothing more to bend her over his desk right now, to see what her little red ass looks like wriggling against the mahogany, but Ben thinks his girl needs a gentler touch, this first time.

His cock pulses at the possibility of doing this again.

He still can't resist arranging her on her hands and knees on the cushions. One more messy kiss, and he is behind her, hardly able to get his cock out of his pants fast enough.

But he pauses to take a moment to admire his handiwork.

"Beautiful." He runs his palms up her thighs, over warm, reddening skin. _He_ did this. _He_ put these marks on her. And she — god — she fucking _loved_ it. "You're so beautiful, Rey. I wish you could see what you look like right now."

Rey arches back into his touch, fisting at the couch. "Solo," she whines, "I've been good, haven't I? Can't you just — can't you _please —?!"_

Ben doesn't need any more encouragement.

The tight, wet grip of her cunt will never stop feeling as exquisite as the first time he took her. Ben could spend whole hours — days, even — buried inside her warmth. Losing himself there. Not that Rey Sanders would ever be able to stand him long enough to tolerate so much time in his presence. Ben pushes this unexpected flash of bitterness back where it came from and returns his attention to the trembling girl on her knees before him. Welcoming him into her cunt.

Because that's what Rey does, every time she spreads herself for his body. She welcomes him, hot wet heat and stuttering gasps and _please_ and _more_ that Ben feels somewhere deep in his bones. From that very first time, when he brought her to her first stunning climax with his fingers, she welcomed him.

She may not welcome him into any other part of her life — but here, like this... Ben Solo owns her.

Rey begins to babble as soon as he starts to move. It's always like this. She is very talkative, his girl, when he gets her going. And she has clearly been worked up to a frenzy from her time spent bent over Ben's lap. He can't remember the last time she was this wet.

He can't remember the last time he was this close to coming, with barely having fucked her.

He reaches, grasping, around her hip to rub at her clit. He's not going to last long, he realizes, so neither should she. His fingers are fumbling, less coordinated than usual as he pants damply against her neck. But she sobs for him all the same when he starts fucking her, hand at her clit and cock in her tight little cunt, moving and gasping and driving inside, over and over.

"So good for me," he hears himself saying, voice raw. "My good girl, I think you deserve to come now. Fuck. Yes — you're going to come with your pretty little ass all red and _hot_ . With your cunt — fucking — _full_ of me."

"Oh — oh _god_ , yes, let me come — please — Solo, _please —"_

And for all his posturing, Ben is never any good at denying her when she begs him like that.

She comes with a shuddering jerk, her warmth spasming deliciously around him — his name on her lips in one long, drawn-out moan. Where it belongs. Ben wants to stamp himself on every part of her.

It doesn't take him long to follow, with thoughts like that clouding his head and Rey's perfect little cunt gripping and squeezing and _taking_ him for everything that it's worth.

For a few long moments after, his mind is blissfully blank. They are only two bodies, joined and trembling and completed by one another. Awareness trickles back slowly. He is half-collapsed across her back, half holding her to his chest. His shirt is damp with sweat. He will need to change.

But that is nothing compared to how utterly _wrecked_ Rey looks, when he leans back and pulls her into his arms.

Her mouth is so bitten and worried that it has turned bright red. Tracks of tears are drying on her cheeks, still flushed from their fucking. Her hair is wild — perhaps Ben had been too rough with the hair-pulling, this time — flying in too many directions.

She is the loveliest thing he's ever seen.

He realizes with a jolt that he has spoken this aloud, from the way her kiss-swollen lips part with surprise. For a few long terrifying heartbeats, he wonders if he has gone too far. And wouldn't that be funny, he thinks bitterly, considering the rest of what they've done today has been otherwise permissible.

But then her surprise blossoms into the sweetest, smallest smile.

"You're not bad at that, Solo." Her voice, still a little scratchy, is returning to normal. "Though... you could go a little harder on me next time."

"Harder?" Ben is not proud of the way his voice breaks on the word.

"Mmm. Yes. Harder." She leans into his body to nose at his ear. "But I guess I'll have to think of something _very_ bad to do, to deserve it that way."

Ben can hardly breathe. Rey's fingers — trembling, he notices — are tucking him back into his slacks. She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss on his cheek — and then pulls back suddenly, as if remembering herself.

"That is — I mean — assuming you wanted to... to do that again. Of course."

Some days, Ben isn't sure what he did to deserve this infuriating, impossible woman, with all her mixed signals and sharp edges.

Most days, he is grateful to know her at all.

"Anything you want, sweetheart." His touch, trailing down the side of her flushed face, is surprisingly tender. Clearly, it is surprising to her too. Rey blinks, her expression suddenly vulnerable.

"Good." She bites her lip. "Because... I'd like to too. Though maybe next time — you could try bending me over your desk." She smiles. "I think I would like that."

She leaves him like that, staring dumbstruck as she re-fastens her zipper, straightens her dress, and — to Ben's surprise — steps out of her underwear. She smirks as she leans down, tucking the ruined material into the pocket of his slacks.

"Will that be all, Mr. Solo?"

Ben swallows. "For now."

It is not until after she closes the door behind her that Ben realizes she didn't correct him, this time, when he called her _sweetheart._

He leans back against the couch and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have wanted to write a scene like this for ages but always end up chickening out!! I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did 👀 Thank you everyone for all the kudos and the feedback on this little collection of drabbles. I've been having a lot of fun with them.
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne)!


	5. too much sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little angsty in this one, guys, and our heroes are a little rough with each other in the smut here. Just a heads up.  
> (If you're interested in a more detailed content warning, see the end notes.)

Ben is at the party for all of thirty minutes before he is ready to leave.

He never understood the purpose of these annual office get-togethers, nor why the holidays should somehow make his attendance mandatory. The first year he tried to skip, his uncle threatened to withhold his holiday bonus until Ben arrived, grab bag gift in hand and scowl fixed firmly in place.

But this is the first year that Rey Sanders has been working at Skywalker Communications, which means that Ben is in an even fouler mood than usual.

Rey hasn't looked at him for a single one of the thirty-two minutes that Ben has been standing here, wedged between the world's most generic-looking Christmas tree and a bowl of obnoxiously weak punch. He knows this, because he has spent every single one of those thirty-two minutes staring at her. Across the room, in bright red lipstick. Laughing uproariously at whatever banal joke Poe Dameron has just delivered.

Yes. Ben is most definitely ready to leave.

"Looks like they're really getting on, aren't they?"

Hux doesn't seem to pick up on the waves of barely controlled fury that radiate from his persona.

Ben decides to turn it up a notch. "Intra-office relationships are grounds for a suspension. You and Tico would do well to remember that."

Hux becomes, if possible, even paler than usual. "Tico? From proofreading?"

"You know exactly which Tico I'm referring to. Though I hear you're quite familiar with both of them, these days."

Hux goes from very pale to very pink in the space of a second. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that you leave me here to put in my mandatory sixty minutes at this godforsaken event with minimal bullshit, before I get irritated enough to find my uncle and —"

A throat clears, somewhere to his left. A very familiar throat. Ben just had his hand wrapped around that throat last week, his cock buried in its owner's ass as she gasped and whimpered beneath him.

"Excuse us," Rey says. _Us._ Us, meaning Rey Sanders and Poe Dameron. Ben is not currently part of that equation. "Could you move? You're blocking the punch."

"It's very weak," says Ben, not moving. "Too much sugar."

Rey's mouth tightens. "I made it."

"Ah." Of course she did. He still doesn't move.

"Excuse me, Solo." Dameron takes a step forward. He walks with an unnecessary amount of swagger, this tiny man. "The lady is thirsty."

Ben almost snorts. If only Dameron knew how unladylike the lady was. Or how thirsty she had been for his cock in the supply room on Monday, bent over a box of printer paper, her mouth stuffed full of Ben's $200 necktie.

"The lady," Ben says carefully, "is welcome to her very weak, very sugary punch."

Rey takes a step forward, brushing past him. The touch is like electricity. He can see how it affects her — the way the hairs on the back of her neck, exposed, bristle at the attention.

"Would you like a glass?" She smiles up at him, sugar-sweet.

"No."

"Your loss."

"I'll have one," Dameron chimes in.

Rey doesn't seem to hear him. "What did _you_ contribute to the potluck, Solo?"

"Your paycheck." Ben's jaw is starting to twitch. "I don't appreciate your tone, Ms. Sanders."

"I don't appreciate you insulting my punch."

"Dameron!" Hux throws up his hands as though he's just noticed Poe standing there for the first time. "How good to see you. I've been meaning to talk to you about that request you put in for the wildlife issue. The Sahara infographic?"

Hux pulls an unwilling Dameron away from their trifecta of punch, Christmas tree and furious Rey. Leaving them alone.

Rey does not wait a moment to pounce. "What the hell is the matter with you tonight?"

Ben keeps his voice perfectly even. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've got to be —" Face twisting with rage, Rey whirls around and takes a few steps toward the exit. When she realizes he's not following, she throws an outraged scowl over her shoulder and motions for him to join her.

Sighing heavily, Ben sets down his own glass of untouched punch and follows.

She leads him, unexpectedly, to a bathroom.

"You’re a big girl, Ms. Sanders," Ben says dryly. “I’m not going in there with you.”

"Too bad." Her hand grasps his forearm — her grip is surprisingly strong — and she yanks him inside.

Her heels click furiously across the tile as she checks each stall, and then she's storming back toward him. Ben flinches when her arm shoots out — but she is only reaching around him to lock the door.

Trapping him.

"What the hell is your problem, Solo?"

"My problem?" The familiar fury is beginning to rise in his chest. "I don't have a problem."

"You haven't said a word to me all night," Rey says hotly, "sulking like a bloody teenager —"

"How am I supposed to speak with you? You've been too busy chatting up _Dameron."_

"Is that what this is about?" Rey huffs a bitter laugh. "What is it? Are you _jealous?"_

"I didn't know there was anything to be jealous of," Ben hisses.

Hurt flickers across her face for a moment, and Ben feels her pain like a savage twist of the most unpleasant victory. Then she grasps his tie and yanks him down, mouth smashing messily against his.

"This?" Rey breathes against his lips a moment later, after she's kissed him dizzy. "Are you jealous of this?"

And Ben's self-control snaps right in half.

"You've been driving me insane," he growls. Lifts her up by her waist. Rey makes a shocked noise, but Ben muffles it with his mouth as he walks her backwards.

The kiss is vicious — all teeth and tongue and bruising fingers. Ben crashes them against the wall, too hard, and she moans into his mouth, clawing at his back. He tears himself away to set his lips to her throat, which has been the source of such distraction tonight, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

"You know exactly," he growls, " _exactly_ what you've been doing to me all night. With your pretty little lipstick."

"I don't understand you," she gasps.

Ben mouths his way up to her ear, breath coming fast. "You're the only one who's ever come close."

He is not gentle with her. Hiking up her dress, his fingers dig into the lace of her underwear and tear a ragged gasp from her mouth.

"Did you get all wet like this for Dameron? Talking to him all night?" His fingers find the dampness where he knows her slit is, dripping, and a wild stab of jealousy slices through him. "Soaking through your underwear like a filthy little whore."

"I wasn't," she whines.

"Is this what you wanted, Rey?" His fingers dig savagely into her wetness through the lace. "To be fucked in a bathroom? Like some backroom slut?"

"No," she gasps, "I mean — yes — but — but only if it's you —"

He shuts her up with another kiss, because he doesn't want to hear the end of that sentence. He doesn't want to feel anything except for the betrayal swelling in his chest, a furious inferno that threatens to swallow him alive.

"Only me," he finds himself hissing anyway as he tears her underwear down her thighs. "Only _ever_ me." Her hands are at his slacks, undoing his belt. Ben slaps them away so he can pull out his cock himself. "You belong to _me,_ Sanders. And I don't — like — to _share."_

He enters her in one swift, brutal thrust. Rey starts to cry out, the noise echoing in the bathroom. Ben grips her jaw to silence her. His palm nearly spans the width of her entire throat.

_"Quiet."_

He stills inside her, breathing heavily and waiting for someone to knock at the door. She stares at him with wide, shiny eyes.

Silence.

"There's a good girl." Two of his fingers creep over her luscious red lips. Pushing past. She pulls them into her mouth, moaning softly.

"If you can't stay quiet," he breathes, pressing his forehead against hers, "I'll just have to stuff your mouth with something else."

She nods, doe-eyed, around his fingers. Ben's stomach twists at the sentiment this stirs within him.

"Suck."

She obeys, and he starts to fuck her, broken thrusts that drive her further up the bathroom wall each time. Her little wet tongue laps around his fingers compliantly, and Ben feels dizzy with lust.

"This is what you need, isn't it?" He presses his fingers further into her mouth, watching avidly. "Not enough to be fucked in one hole. You need to be filled at both ends. Nothing's ever enough for you, is it?"

She moans something around his hand that sounds like _yes,_ but Ben pushes his fingertips to the back of her throat, just for the way it convulses around his knuckles. A strangled noise leaves his chest, and then he is pulling out of her mouth to pin her with both hands against the wall — so that he can fuck her properly. The way she _deserves._

Because she does deserve this. She deserves this and more. She deserves someone who will take care of her. Someone who will laugh with her at parties, who will drink her shitty punch and smile. Someone who will take her to dinner and tuck her in each night.

Someone who is a better man than Ben.

But this — this is all he has to give her right now.

So he will give it to her as best as he can.

Rey's fingernails will leave marks on the back of his neck, but Ben doesn't care. He fucks her mercilessly, a violent rhythm, her ass slapping loudly against the bathroom tile with each thrust. Her tongue in his mouth tastes like strawberries and too much sugar. He drinks her up anyway.

"You're not like this for anyone else, sweetheart," he hisses against her lips as he drives into her. "No one else. Nobody will _ever_ know you like I do."

"No one," she agrees, her voice trembling. "Just you, Ben — I — I _swear_ — only you —"

Perhaps it's the sound of his name in her mouth. His first name, his _real name_ — not his father's. Maybe it's the sensation of her walls clamping down around him as his thumb rolls furiously at her clit, shoving her over the edge of her climax.

Or maybe it's her sweet little voice, promising him things that he is unable to take from her.

Ben comes so hard his vision whites out, groaning incoherently against her shoulder. His body seizes up for a moment as he pulses — once, twice, three times — emptying deep inside her welcoming warmth. Filling her.

When he comes back to earth, Rey is holding him. Stroking his hair. Kissing his ear, ever so softly.

Ben pulls back, slipping out of her body, and his heart — it very nearly breaks at the smile she gives him. Easy and full.

"God," she says on a laugh. "That was hot. You're hot when you're angry, has anyone ever told you that?"

Carefully, Ben sets her on the floor. Straightens her dress. Runs a hand over his face, burning hot.

"Hey." Her fingers find his earlobe again. Her smile has vanished, eroded by concern. "You're not actually angry, are you?"

Ben breathes out heavily. He thinks he might be a little sick.

"Is this really about Poe?" Genuine worry laces through her voice. "Because I'm pretty sure he's got something going on with Finn. You know, from sales? Never met a gayer man in my entire —"

"Luke told me."

The words dangle in the silence. Ben can practically see them hanging there, suspended, in the air before him. Waiting.

Rey's mouth works for a few moments, as though she’s trying to find the right response. As though there are any words that can explain away this revelation.

Finally, she asks him, voice very soft, "What did he say?"

Ben squeezes his eyes shut. Brings his hand to his temple, where a migraine is lurking just at the edge of his skull. "Does it matter? He told me."

He can't look at her. He needs to look at her. He opens his eyes, and Rey — she is more frightened than he's ever seen her before.

"It would only be an hour away," she begins, haltingly. "And I know they're technically competition, if that's what you're worried about, but — but Luke said it wouldn't matter. They're a completely different market, really, and as long as we don't talk —"

"When do we ever talk?" Ben snaps. She flinches as though she's been slapped. "We never talk. You're right, Ms. Sanders. It wouldn't matter. Because this arrangement — it's only as good as it keeps us from each other's throats at the office." He is breathing heavily now. "Isn't that what you said?"

Her eyes are shining now. Real tears brim at her lashes. Ben has never seen them in this context before, accompanied by such disgust and anger twisting her pretty features.

"That's all this is to you?" she whispers. "Still?"

Ben cannot possibly bear to look at her. He can't bear to ever look away from her. He tries to find the words to tell her — that she deserves better than what he could give her. That he will never be what she needs.

In the end, he doesn't find them. She rubs her eyes, wipes her smeared lipstick, and strides out of the bathroom.

The echo of her heels rings against the tile walls, followed by the slam of the door. Ben is left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning:** Ben uses some derogatory language during the sex in this chapter. Everything stays consensual, but if this is triggering, you can stop reading at "You're the only one who's ever come close" and pick up again at "Only me."
> 
> \--
> 
> I thought this would be a good time to mention: this story does have a happy ending <3 And the next moment we visit in their timeline is not nearly as sad. So stick with me.
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne)!


	6. easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're jumping a tiny bit backward here. Just a heads up. Hope you enjoy 😘

It's shaping up to be a pretty good night.

Rey is emptying a second box of Kraft macaroni and cheese into a pot of boiling water. The third season of Parks and Recreation is loaded on her laptop's Netflix queue. She is considering opening one of her nicer bottles of wine when her cell starts to buzz.

Distractedly, she glances at the screen—and does a double take. Heart quickening, she picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

Sure enough, Ben Solo's deep voice floats back to her, diluted by the tinny receiver: "Are you busy?"

Rey's eyes dart from the boiling pot of Pikachu-shaped pasta, to the Netflix show paused mid-binge on her laptop. "Uh... no. Are you..." Hurt? In the hospital? _Why are you suddenly calling me?_ "All right?"

"I'm on my way to your apartment."

"What—?!" It's been two hours since Rey scrubbed off her makeup and changed into her most comfortable pair of cat pajamas. In other words, she is definitely not up for company. Especially not Solo's.

"Actually, I'm pulling up now."

Rey thinks she might throw up. Scrambling, she skids into her bathroom and begins untangling her hair from the decidedly unattractive, top-of-the-head bun she sleeps in.

"Is that a problem?"

"No," Rey says quickly. "Of course not."

There is a heavy sigh on the other end. "Good. I'm coming up."

The line clicks.

"Fuck." Rey takes stock of her bedraggled appearance in the mirror. Should she attempt another bun, situated in a more normal location on her head this time? Should she find a comb and part her hair? She is running her fingers through it haphazardly when there is an insistent pounding on the door.

 _Fuck._ Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Coming!"

Rey's voice sounds false and high-pitched, even to her own ears. She rounds the corner, nearly slipping in her fuzzy socks, and half-runs, half-slides to the front door.

Solo fills her entire doorway like a dark cloud in his suit and tie. But when he sees her—he blinks. Like the fog is lifting a little. And then, surprisingly, his mouth quirks.

"Go ahead. Laugh." Rey puts her hands on her hips, daring him to do just that.

"Laugh?" Solo looks at her like she's speaking another language. "Why would I laugh?"

Rey raises an eyebrow at him. But his eyes are already drifting past her.

"Your pot is boiling over."

"Oh, _shit."_ Rey whirls around and sprints back to her stove. She barely misses the overflow of frothy water as she flips off the burner, still swearing.

Solo has let himself in without her permission. He is examining one of the empty Kraft boxes with disdain. It looks very small in his giant hand. "What the hell is a _poke_ -man?"

"Be careful, Solo. You're showing your age."

He leans against her counter, frowning. "I'm not that old."

"Old enough to say Pokémon like it's an STD and not the most beloved anime of all time."

He's looking at her like she's speaking French again. No, not French—he probably knows French. "Were you really planning on eating this?"

Rey snorts. "No, I just thought I'd see how long the pot took to boil before it spilled onto the stove." She waits a few beats before it's clear he doesn't realize she's joking. "Of course I planned on eating this. What is that supposed to mean?"

"This is food for children."

"Wow. You are _really_ showing your age now."

"I'm serious, Rey. This can't possibly contain anything of nutritional value."

"Who eats Kraft mac and cheese for the nutritional value? It's for the heavily processed cheese. And the fun shapes. Hey. Are you even listening to me?"

Solo has pulled out his iPhone. It’s one of the huge new ones, and it's still dwarfed in his massive hand. "We're getting delivery."

Rey's heart skips a beat for two reasons. The first, of course, is that she loves food. The second is the unsettling sensation that... _they don't do this._ Order meals for each other. _Share_ meals with each other. Drop by one another's apartments unannounced after work.

Rey falters. "Wait. Did you only just leave the office?"

Solo's hand tightens infinitesimally around his phone. "Yes."

"But it's past ten o'clock. On a Friday."

"I know how to tell time."

"We put the issue to bed hours ago." Rey knows this. As the art director, her signature is required before the final proof is sent to the printers.

"Do you prefer Thai or Jamaican?"

Rey blinks. "There's actually a really great pizza place up the road—"

"We're not eating _pizza_." Solo says the word with enough disdain that she might have suggested they eat the empty cardboard box he's currently holding.

"Pizza? What do you have against pizza?"

"Nutritional value, Ms. Sanders." His eyes flick down her frame and up again. "No wonder you're such a tiny thing."

God. She can't _stand_ this man. "Fine. Thai. Spring rolls and red curry." She folds her arms. "Extra rice. I'm paying."

He doesn't let her pay.

Twenty minutes later, a small feast of Thai cuisine is spread out on Rey's coffee table, and they're both crammed onto a loveseat Rey picked up at a yard sale last year for $40. Furniture like this—it clearly was not built with people like Ben Solo in the minds of its designers. Either that, or he enjoys taking up too much space, spreading his legs so that his knee brushes against her thigh whenever she reaches for another container.

Rey suspects it's a little bit of both.

Things are—slightly easier this way. Food, of course, makes everything easier, at least in Rey's experience. But the air is still thick with tension, and not the good kind. Solo's body is tight with unfamiliar rage. Well, not completely unfamiliar—every employee at Skywalker Communications is intimately familiar with the various symptoms of Ben Solo's legendary bad moods. Those who aren't, after all, do not remain employees at Skywalker for very long.

But this right here is unfamiliar to Rey, because—even though she has personally provoked this man to great irritation, even anger—she has never been the subject of one of _these_ moods. This particular brand of fury is reserved for one person and one person only.

"So," Rey says delicately, between great mouthfuls of rice and tofu. "Do you want to... talk about it?"

She regrets the words immediately. Because this thing they have—it doesn't involve a whole lot of talking. For them, talking only comes in two flavors: shouted arguments conducted from opposite ends of Skywalker's open-plan office space, or the filthy things he murmurs in her hair while he's splitting her in half. There is no in between.

At the very least, it stirs Solo from whatever strange reverie he's fallen into, watching her shovel food into her mouth. "Talk?"

"Yeah." Rey takes another heaping forkful of rice. "About... whatever it is that happened tonight."

Solo's jaw twitches. "No."

"Oh. Okay. Fine. That's fine." Her face is starting to burn. How does he always make her feel this way? Like she is so much smaller than she is? "Are you planning on telling me why you came here, at least?"

He gives her an odd look. "I wanted to see you."

"Mm." Rey swallows a forkful of rice. Her face grows even hotter. "Right."

His jaw is really working now. "But perhaps... I should go."

Rey's fork clatters on her plate when she drops it. "What? Why?"

"I just thought..." Solo's mouth tightens. "I just wanted to see you."

It occurs to her, for the first time, that perhaps Solo isn't angry. Perhaps he is... upset. And—her heart does a funny flip-flop—perhaps he got the idea that seeing her might make him... less upset. Which is a preposterous idea. Obviously. Because Solo despises her. Can't stand being around her—except for when they're fucking each other, and even then, he is practically running out of the room when they're finished.

Except... he's here now. And Rey is in her pajamas, looking very far from the sleek dresses and high heels that drive him so wild at the office.

And Solo is still looking at her like... like...

Gently, Rey places her plate on the coffee table.

Solo frowns. "You're not finished."

"I am right now."

"You haven't eaten enough."

Summoning her courage, Rey turns—and climbs directly into his lap. Straddling him. Solo's surprise is clear across his face, blinking up at her.

"What are you doing?"

"You need a hug."

 _"Excuse_ me?"

Heart pounding—why the hell is she so nervous?—Rey winds her arms around his neck and, very slowly, tucks her head next to his. Pressing their bodies together.

She can smell his aftershave this close. It’s a musky scent that makes her eyes squeeze shut. His stubble grazes her cheek, and Rey pulls him closer.

Slowly, gently, his large arms slide up her back. Embracing her.

A long, slow breath, and Rey brings her lips to his earlobe. "Don't go. Please."

Solo shudders beneath her. Almost imperceptibly, his arms tighten around her. "All right."

This is nice, she realizes. Holding each other. The only time they do this is in the moments afterward—and then only briefly, until they come back to their senses. Until they both remember how much loathing they harbor for the person trembling, vulnerable, in the circle of the other's arms.

But this—her cheek pressed softly against his face, his breath fanning slow and warm against her neck—this is... nice. In a way she hadn't thought possible with this impossible man. Solo releases another long breath, and Rey senses something important unraveling with it. Stripping them, so that they are only left with each other.

"See?" Rey's hands have somehow found his hair, sliding up his scalp. "This isn't so bad."

She feels more than hears his soft noise of agreement—a deep vibration that starts in his chest and then ripples through her at every place they’re pressed together.

The sound of his voice is an equally physical experience. "You like cats."

"What?" Rey is getting a little lost in the feel of him, in the musky scent at his throat and the warmth of his palms, sliding up and down.

"Cats." One of his giant hands leaves her back to pluck at her pajama bottoms. "You like them."

"Oh." Rey feels a bit like a cat right now, rubbing her cheek against the roughness of his stubble. "Yes. My landlord won't allow them."

"I didn't know you liked them."

There are a lot of things Solo doesn't know about her. And even more that she doesn't know about him. She didn't think she'd ever be interested enough to know anything about a person she has long considered her worst enemy—but here she is.

Interested.

"I do." Rey murmurs the word against his ear. "I like cats, and processed cheese. And you." She pulls back abruptly, heart pounding. "I mean. Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

Solo looks utterly transformed from the tense, agitated man who was sitting beside her a few minutes ago. His face is more relaxed than she's ever seen it. Easy.

"Sure. When you're not being deliberately difficult."

His lips twitch. "When am I difficult?"

"Oh, you know. Every single day. At the office. Outside of the office. At lunch. On the—hey!"

The last word comes out as a squeak. A hand has slipped from the back of her shirt up the front, and without her bra, it easily slides up to cup her breast in one warm, giant palm.

"Go on."

Rey's breath quickens as he trails his fingertips along the sensitive underside of her. Barely touching. "On the weekends," she breathes. "When you text me about work."

"Not just work. I text you about other things, too."

"Well, those are the times that I like you, then."

"Do you like me now?" His fingers have traced a feather-light, meandering path up to her nipple. They linger there, worrying at it.

"I—" Rey can't think, with him doing that. She can't do anything at all but pant and squirm on his lap.

"Take this off."

Solo pulls back suddenly, leaning against the couch. Looking up at her. Rey wonders why he doesn't just tear the shirt off himself—he usually can't get her clothes off quickly enough—but he has a different energy tonight from the urgency he typically brings to these encounters. Easier. More relaxed.

Like he's not going to start second-guessing this the moment he stops touching her.

So Rey takes her time, pulling her t-shirt over her head. Baring herself. When she lifts it over her eyes, Solo is watching her raptly. His expression holds something Rey can't quite place. Like she has done much more than take off her shirt.

"So lovely." He slides his hands up her abdomen again. His touch is so light. Almost reverent. "Do I tell you that? How lovely you are?"

He tells her a lot of things, in the heat of the moment. Things they never talk about outside of when they're fucking. Are they fucking right now? What they're doing—it feels more intimate than fucking.

Intimate is the perfect way to describe the sensation of his large hands, gently covering her breasts. Testing their weight. Squeezing them, so tenderly. He traces small circles against the smooth centers of his palms with the points of her nipples—so hard and sensitive—and her breath catches in her throat.

His eyes never leave his face the entire time. They drink in her every movement with a hunger that does not match the slow leisure of his fingers, teasing and rolling and plucking at her like a string.

“Lovely,” he murmurs again. “My lovely girl.”

Rey feels her protest gather on the tip of her tongue—and then falter on a gasp when his fingers give her a sharp, delicious pinch. His words are starting to become more urgent, belying the languor in his touch.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day, you know. Your sweet little tits.” His palms cup them again for good measure, squeezing, and it makes Rey squirm in his lap. “So sensitive for me. You like that, sweetheart?”

“I’m—I’m not your—”

Another pinch. She gasps, and Solo is suddenly leaning forward so that his mouth hovers inches from her own. He mirrors her expression, almost mocking, and clicks his tongue.

“Not my what?”

“Your…” The pads of his thumbs are rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her areolas now. Rey feels each movement like it is tethered directly to her clit. “I’m not.”

“Oh, but I think you are.” His tone is still light, but Rey can sense the undercurrent sparking beneath his words. “I think you’re _everything,_ Rey.”

This startles her so much that she doesn’t protest when he wraps his arms around her hips and stands, taking her with him. His large hands grip the backs of her thighs as he carries her, leather soles of his shoes clicking on the wood floor, down the hallway.

He isn't even looking at her. The coarse material of his suit jacket presses flush against her bare torso, rubbing with each step and making her squirm.

“Where are you—what are we—”

“Bedroom.”

“But—”

Solo turns the corner, hand slamming against the light switch on the wall, and then spills her onto the bed. Still fully dressed, he hovers over her, eyes dark with intent.

Rey supposes that the Thai will reheat just fine in the microwave anyway.

“Your pants.” His eyes remain fixed on her as he shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to the ground. “Take them off.”

Rey doesn't need to be told twice. Her cat pajamas are quickly tossed in a crumpled pile beside the bed, and Solo’s eyes rake over her hungrily as he loosens his tie.

“Now the underwear.”

“You’re very demanding tonight.”

“I've been thinking about having you naked all day. Take off your underwear.”

Just the thought of Solo picturing her this way, distracted, is enough to make Rey’s stomach flutter. She decides to reward him. Holding his gaze, she raises up to her knees and hooks her thumbs inside the waistband. As she slides them down her thighs, she bends, arching her back a little. It makes her feel ridiculous, and a little vulnerable—but she knows he likes it when she does this.

He doesn't disappoint. A low, long groan leaves him as Rey abandons the task of her underwear somewhere around her knees and slides her arms down onto the bed in front of her instead, backside high in the air.

“I think I need some help.” She wiggles a little for good measure.

Solo is behind her in an instant, halting her movements with a large palm against her ass. “Of course you do. My girl needs to be taken care of, doesn’t she?”

He grasps her foot and lifts, tugging the underwear down her calves. Another low groan.

“Look at you.” There is the sound of more fabric rustling behind her as he strips his own clothes. “You’re soaked. I should make you wait for me all day like this.”

Rey almost snorts. “Yeah. Right.”

Large hands wrap around her hips, hoisting her toward the end of the bed. “I wouldn’t give you a choice.” More shuffling. He seems to be kneeling on the floor. “I’d tie you up and leave you here.”

Her breath hitches as she feels his mouth at the back of her thigh. “That’s not very nice.”

“I’m not feeling very nice.”

“Shocking.” It’s hard to sound sarcastic with his lips pressing slow kisses up her leg.

Solo, of course, does a much better job of it. “Is that what you want, Rey?” His voice drips mockery against her skin. “Someone who will be _nice_ to you?”

Sharp pain lances through her as he sinks his teeth into her thigh. Rey hisses, fists clenching her pillow, but his tongue quickly follows, smoothing over the sting. She buries her face into the blanket, breath stuttering out of her.

“Do you think you deserve to feel nice, Rey?”

“I let you come here tonight,” she hisses.

“You’ll let me do whatever I want to you. You always do.”

His hand is suddenly smoothing over her ass, thumb sliding between her cheeks. Brushing over her opening, back and forth. Rey’s eyes roll back in her head.

“Fuck.” Solo’s voice is ragged. “You aren’t even doing that on purpose, are you? Twitching for me like that.”

His other hand massages and squeezes at her ass, a rough movement that stretches the wet, sensitive skin at the bottom of her cunt. “I’m not—it’s your—your finger—”

“So it’s me,” he breathes. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Of course it’s you,” Rey snaps, face hot—and then yelps when his palm comes down hard on her ass.

“Mouthy little thing.” He squeezes where he just slapped her, and a shudder courses through her entire body. “Nice girls don’t talk back.”

Rey opens her mouth to tell him to fuck off. It comes out in a whimper when he spreads her wide with his huge hands instead.

“But you’re not a nice girl, are you.” Solo breathes the words right at the very core of her, holding her hips still. “Would a nice girl be whining for a thick cock in her ass?”

“I’m not _whining—_ ”

The tip of his tongue slices right down the cleft of her, and the noise that comes out of Rey’s mouth—it certainly sounds like a whine. But mostly a curse. That’s what she tells herself, anyway, struggling to catch her breath as he swirls around and around the perimeter of her entrance.

Until he starts flicking over it back and forth instead.

The noises she’s making—Rey is definitely whining now. They only get worse when Solo pulls back slightly to fucking _blow_ on it.

“I've been inside this little hole,” he croons, almost reverent. “I’ve been inside all of them. Filled each and every one up with my cum.”

Rey quakes beneath his fingertips, trailing up her thighs. He drags one long finger right along her seam, the lightest of touches.

“Which of them shall I fill up today?”

“I don’t care.” Her resolve snaps clean in two. “Any of them. All of them. Why do you always need to be so— _fuck!”_

White-hot pain streaks across her ass beneath a sudden flurry of smacks, and the world contracts to the sharp sensation of Solo’s hand, cracking against her. And Rey—she can only kneel there. Taking it. Her fists clench and spasm in the blankets, breath arrested completely in her lungs. By the time he’s done, she’s started to get a little lightheaded. Oxygen returns to her with a choked gasp, and she slumps forward, panting.

“Shhh.” He smooths his palm against hot, tingling skin, and Rey loses her breath all over again at how pleasant it feels. “I’ve got you. I know how badly my girl wants to be good. Let me help you.”  
  
Solo is rubbing her in slow, soothing circles now. Smoothing away the pain. Rey only realizes that she’s arching into the touch, back curving, because he squeezes her appreciatively, just a little too tight.  
  
"Let's try this again, hmm?"  
  
The thick tips of his fingers slide lower, to where she is aching and hot. He makes a low, hungry sound as he parts her.  
  
"Oh, but this is exactly what I mean." His touch grows a little rougher as he spreads her lips with two fingers. Exposing her. "Fuck, Rey. You’re _juicy."_  
  
"You—you’ve been teasing me."  
  
"I'm helping you."  
  
"I don't need your— _oh."_  
  
He has dragged her wetness up to her clit, and now he lingers there, stealing the air from her completely. "Would a nice girl get so wet at just the thought of being fucked?"  
  
"I—I don't—"  
  
Solo’s breath is coming a little faster. "Look at this mess. This isn't very nice at all. We've still got a lot of work to do with you, don't we?"  
  
Face very hot, she nods tightly into the blanket in mindless agreement. "Y-yes—please—"

"Ask me nicely."

"Ahhh—please, I— _fuck."_

"Language."

The bastard actually _flicks_ her. Rey nearly spills forward onto the bedspread, crying out, but his hand at her hip holds her still.

"Ask me, Rey. Where you want me to fuck you."

"There," Rey hisses, and Solo cups her sex, a firm pressure.

"Here...?" His voice has gotten very rough. He won’t be able to keep this up much longer. Or so Rey hopes. “Mmm... I bet it would go in so _easy."_

"Oh—oh _god."_

"Say it again."

"Please, I—" Rey hardly knows what he wants from her anymore, so she offers him hot-faced desperation. "—there, right there, I need you to fuck me right there—"

"That's my girl." The bed shifts as he climbs onto it, and Rey nearly sobs with relief. His hands shake a little as they arrange her, betraying his own eagerness. “Being so good for me. I think I’ll give you both.”

A cap snaps open, and Rey jolts at the unexpected shock of something cold and thick and liquid drizzling between her cheeks. "Hey,” she gasps, head whipping around. "You're—you’re getting that everywhere.”

“But you’re already so messy, aren’t you?” Solo smears the lubricant around haphazardly—and it really is an excessive amount, cold and slick against her skin—before his thumb settles at her entrance. “I’ll get it wherever I want.”

He keeps his thumb there like an anchor, his large hand splayed across her backside while the other drags the blunt head of his cock up and down her quivering slit. Rey thinks she could cry at the thick promise of it. The wetness at the corners of her eyes tells her she might already be.

It is enough to strip her of whatever dignity that is still left to her. _“Please,_ Ben—please—I’m begging you, I—I _need_ it—”

No matter how many times they do this, Rey will never get over just how massive he is when he first enters her body.

Sometimes he goes slowly. Pressing kisses against her face. Touching her hair. Easing it in and out until she is finally, blessedly full.

Not this time.

Solo pushes inside of her like the largest thing she’s ever felt—and then keeps going. She is stretching, filling, _overflowing_ with him. The sharp slap of his hips against her ass would jolt her forward, but he’s squeezing her hips with a bruising grip, and there is nowhere left for her to go.

“That’s right.” His breath is coming faster. Like she is squeezing all the air from his lungs. “That’s what you need.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. Solo always knows what she wants better than she knows herself.

This is one of those moments. Without giving her time to adjust, he pulls almost all the way out and then slides right back in—one long, cleaving thrust. Rey cries out into the blanket.

“You don’t need someone _nice.”_ His grip is almost painful against her hip as he begins to set a pace, grinding her back against him. “Because you’re not a nice girl, Rey. You’re _filthy_ for me.”

His thumb slides along her lubricated skin, and then—oh fuck oh _fuck_ —it’s pressing again at her other opening. Rubbing her there while he continues to fuck in and out of her.

“Ben,” she whines, because he can’t possibly mean to—she can’t _possibly_ be able to—

“I told you,” he hisses, “I’m going to give you _both.”_

He slows down, but just for a moment. Just long enough to press and _press_ until his slippery thumb breaks through the rim of her and then—impossibly—glides right in.

Solo does stop then. Panting. “Fuck.” The finger slides a knuckle deeper, and Rey’s thighs tremble with how full she feels. “Rey... you’re so—you’re so _small_. I can feel where I’m stretching you—where I’m—”

He gives another shallow thrust, almost as though he can’t quite help himself. And Rey _—fuck—_ she is absolutely _impaled._

“Is this—is it good?” Solo’s voice trembles a little, the way it always does when he remembers himself in these moments. “Tell me it’s good, sweetheart.”

And even though it is overwhelming and on the edge of painful and very nearly too much—it is perfect. All of it. Rey wouldn’t change a thing.

“It’s good,” she gasps out, and he trembles against her back with relief. Because this is what he needs too. After whatever it was that happened today—she understands that this is what he needs from her. And Rey is happy to give it.

Neither of them last long, after that.

Solo sets a brutal rhythm, almost too rough for the way he’s stretching her in both places. But Rey is determined to take him. She wants to take all of him. She wants Ben Solo in all his messy, sprawling intensity—his too-much and his too-big, all of his boundless superlatives that somehow still slot perfectly against the grooves of Rey’s own misshapen heart.

When he comes, he does so panting promises into her hair, words neither of them will ever be able to keep once they remember each other again.

As they lie beside each other in the hazy minutes afterward, limbs tangled and sweaty—Rey lets her eyes flutter closed.

Just for a moment, she tells her. Just until he gets up and leaves.

* * *

It turns out to be a little longer than a moment.

And when she opens her eyes again, she is surprised to awaken with his warm chest still pressed against her cheek. His fingers carding through her hair.

“Shit.” Rey sits up abruptly. Lying on the bed, Solo is wide awake. “I… I must have dozed off.”

“I noticed.”

“How long?”

“Half an hour. Maybe longer.”

“I’m so sorry.” Hot embarrassment crawls up her neck. “You should have woken me.”

Solo is leaning against the headboard, his expression unreadable. “You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Rey imagines herself like a dead weight, sprawled across his body and preventing him from getting out of bed to leave. Her blush deepens. “I’m not a heavy sleeper.”

“I’ve never seen you sleep before.” The way he says this—it’s almost like it wasn’t meant for her to hear. An observation just for himself.

“Well, you can cross that one off your bucket list, I suppose.”

His mouth quirks. “Yes.”

“Right.” She rubs the back of her hot neck, feeling awkward. “Well, it’s going to be very late driving home now. I’m sorry about that.”

Rey is sure she didn’t include any of her usual insults in this statement, but from the look Solo gives her, they might as well be arguing over a conference table rather than sitting naked in her bed.  “I’ll manage.”

And suddenly, Rey understands that look. She understands it in a way she never has before. Whether he gives it to her at a meeting, or during a heated discussion, or here, right now—his massive body shifting beneath her as he moves to rise—Rey realizes with a jolt that she has been misunderstanding him all along.

“Or… you could stay.”

Solo stills. “What?”

“You could spend the night.” She doesn’t know how she can still blush after everything they’ve done together. But her cheeks are as hot as ever when he looks back at her. “Here. With me.”

He blinks. “With you.”

“Sure.” Rey gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Since you’re... you know. Here already.”

She can practically see the thoughts churning behind his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You wouldn’t. I’ve got a big bed.” As if he isn’t quite familiar with her bed. “And I don’t snore.”

“You do snore.”

“What?” Rey’s mouth drops open. “No, I don’t.”

“You were snoring just now.” His expression softens. “Very quietly.”

Rey’s heart—it’s fluttering in that strange way it does whenever he looks at her like that. “Fine.” She’ll argue about this later. “But you’re welcome to stay. Whenever you want,” she adds, feeling bold.

Solo simply continues to stare at her. Unreadable.

“You did say something about—filling up all my… you know.” She bites back a grin. “My holes.”

To her surprise, a hint of red blooms at the tips of his ears. “Did I?”

“Yes. We only got to the one.”

“Ah.” His ears are definitely bright red now. “I recall.”

“And besides... I would like it if you stayed.” Rey is beginning to gravitate across the bed without realizing it. Fingers finding his hair. “With or without the holes.”

“That part is non-negotiable.” His eyes are very dark, traveling over her face. It makes heat pool in parts of her that have no right to feel anything right now, after what he just put her through.

“All right. Sure.” Rey’s stomach twists pleasantly, and she offers him a shy smile. “So... will you sleep here?”

His eyes are glittering, and Rey finds herself with another new understanding. “I suppose I could.”

“Because I didn’t really get that far before. With the sleeping. I don’t think it counts for your bucket list if I didn’t make it through a REM cycle.”

“You won’t make it through very many of those if I have you in my bed all night.”

Rey smiles. “We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut here was supposed to be way softer than the filth you just read (my outline actually said "the first time they make love" 😬😬), but hopefully they made up for it at the end.
> 
> Thank you guys for following along with these two. I've got a chronological order describing where each of these chapters appear in the timeline, and I will probably post it in the end notes when I upload the final installment. Until then, I hope you're enjoying the non-linear nature of this smutty little fic as much as I am.
> 
> Come say hello on [twitter](https://Twitter.com/ohwise1ne)!


	7. rush hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping back a little further still. Bear with me, folks.

Ben Solo is no stranger to obsession.

He approaches most things in his life with an intensity that's been described as _excessive_ , _intimidating,_ and, in the words of one former classmate, _a little fucking weird._

Ben doesn’t find it weird in the least. It is his nature to devote his absolute attention to whatever he sets his mind to, be it at the workplace or in his personal life, limited as it may be. He considers it a whole-mind, whole-body approach to life’s challenges, this habit of immersing himself so completely in his every intention. A point of pride. Certainly not a weakness.

Until the object of such fixation became a woman.

Rey Sanders has utterly captivated him. From her very first day at Skywalker, she has lingered at the edge of his thoughts like a light that is too bright, seeping through the cracks of his concentration and coloring each waking instant with her presence. He looks for her everywhere he goes, aching for the smallest glimpses of her. Doing everything he can for an opportunity to interact with her.

This almost always ends in her pretty face turning pink with outrage, fists clenched at her sides, as she demonstrates exactly how opposite their feelings are on every subject. Especially, to Ben, the one that matters most.

He seems incapable of engaging her in the most basic of conversation without angering her. Half the time, he doesn't understand what he’s done to cause her such offense. The other half, Sanders gets him so riled that he doesn’t realize how loudly they are speaking (his uncle calls this _shouting)_ until she storms off, swearing colorfully and slamming the nearest door behind her.

Ironically, these are also the moments that she is most likely to seek him out for a very different sort of interaction.

Ben is familiar with obsession, but he finds himself completely unmoored by her. He spends his days adrift in a sea made up of all her tiny-perfect details, soaking up everything she will give him. Whenever he thinks he's finally found the sandy floor, it drops out abruptly from under him, sucking him in deeper.

He is starting to think there is no bottom when it comes to his captivation with this woman-child and all her blazing ferocity.

It’s only gotten worse since they’ve started fucking.

He thinks of her at the most inappropriate of moments. Flashes of her follow him throughout his day—images of her thighs spreading beneath his hands—her mouth as it opens to take him inside. Her smile, blindingly bright—and always directed at someone else. Never for him.

It disturbs him a little, how possessive he is over her.

Such sentiment always threatens to spill out when he has her naked and whining. Like he can't contain his need to have her in every way. In the lust-slick haze of these moments, it is easier to pretend that she truly does belong to him. That she would allow him to kiss her, were he bold enough to close the tingling space between their lips while she lies naked underneath his body. That her smile doesn’t falter when she catches him staring across the room. That she might even enjoy his company beyond the delirious oblivion of their pleasure.

Ben is no stranger to obsession. But this is the first time he thinks he might be falling in love.

* * *

 

The quarterly strategy meeting is approaching its third mind-numbing hour of _things that really could have gone in an email_ when his phone buzzes.

**When are you leaving the office?**

He blinks rapidly, suddenly very alert. His uncle's assistant is pulling up a spreadsheet about circulation that _definitely_ could have gone in an email. No one is looking at him.

_Don't know._

_In a meeting._

**My car isn't starting.**

_Not surprised._

_It's almost as old as you are._

A playful joke. Casual. He waits, heart fluttering, for her response.

**Never mind.**

Never mind? Never mind _what?_ He reads and re-reads her three messages to make sure he hasn't missed some important question. Why does this always happen?

Before he can stop himself, he's tapping out several more texts.

_At least it has automatic windows._

_Many cars from the '90s do not._

_The contraption to connect your phone to the speaker is especially clever._

He feels like a lovesick fool, grasping for things to compliment about her hideous car. To his mounting frustration, Sanders is equally unimpressed.

**It's not a contraption.**

**It uses the cassette player.**

**Are you always so pretentious?**

Fuck. Ben exhales sharply through his nostrils, earning him a glare from Hux, who is obviously hanging on every word of his uncle's tedious presentation.

_What are you doing tonight?_

There. That is more familiar ground. Something guaranteed to earn an immediate response. And sure enough:

**Getting an Uber.**

Ben scowls. Like hell she is.

_After that._

**Are you trying to ask me out?**

This feels like a trick question. Ben can sense the danger lurking in an affirmative answer. The way she'll cut him down. Of course she doesn't want to go out with him. She is only interested in one thing.

Fortunately, Ben is very interested in that too. He will take whatever she'll give him.

_I'm asking you what you're doing tonight._

He begins to pack up his things. Several people are staring at him now, including his uncle, whose deep frown communicates his displeasure.

**My only plans are my Uber.**

_Cancel it. I'm driving you home._

**What?**

**It's almost here.**

_Meet me in the parking garage. Level three. Five minutes._

Ben rises from his seat. At the front of the room, Connix falters mid-sentence.

"Personal emergency," he says, shouldering his bag. The look Luke gives him is scathing _,_ probably because he knows Ben has no personal life to generate an emergency of any kind.

Except he does now.

And an opportunity to have his girl is far more urgent than anything Luke's got planned for the rest of this useless meeting.

Ben finds her leaning against his car, looking surly. Her feet are crossed at the ankles. He wants to pin her to the passenger door and kiss her silly.

When she notices him approaching, her sour expression wavers a little. "That was longer than five minutes."

"I was in a meeting."

"You didn't need to leave." Sanders sounds like she's trying to be irritated. "I was getting a ride."

Ben has finally reached her. It takes everything in his power not to touch her. He hovers instead, barely a few inches away, his fingers itchy with desire. "You wanted me to drive you. That's why you texted me."

"You were busy."

"You didn't ask."

"I didn't want to inconvenience you."

"You need to be direct with me, Ms. Sanders. To tell me exactly what you want."

She straightens her spine and looks him square in the eye. "I want you to take me back to my flat, and I want you to fuck me there." She wets her lips. "More than once, if possible."

 _Fuck._ Ben can't help himself now. Her hips fill his hands as he rests them at the top of her skirt, drawing their bodies closer together. "That is definitely possible."

"Good. Because I've been... thinking about it. A lot."

Ben can't contain his smirk. "It's only been four days." It usually takes at least a week for the tension between them to boil over again.

But for some reason, his teasing only seems to annoy her. Her face colors as she glares at him. "We can wait a little longer if you'd like.”

"If we wait any longer, I might strip you down right here and have you over the hood of my car."

He can feel the shudder that runs through her in the anchors of his palms, wrapped around her waist. “I don’t see the problem with that.”

This girl will be the end of him. Ben fumbles for his key and mashes the unlock button, opening the door for her with a little too much aggression. “Inside.”

Fortunately, she seems just as eager. She always is. Sanders brushes past him as she slides into the car. The look she gives him—hot and confused and wanting—it makes it hard for him not to follow through on his threat. But he knows the sooner he starts driving, the sooner he will have her naked and squirming in her bed.  
  
Ben gets in the car.   
  
As soon as he pulls out of the parking garage, however, he realizes he has left out a crucial factor in his decision to wait those few extra minutes.   
  
It’s only ten past five. Traffic is already bumper to bumper.   
  
And this is going to take much longer than a few minutes.   
  
Sanders looks equally displeased with the idea of being stuck in a car with him for such a long time. Though—Ben's mouth tightens—for different reasons, he’s sure.   
  
"Look," she says, falsely cheerful, as Ben inches onto the entrance ramp of the parkway. She begins to roll his window up and down, up and down. "They're automatic. Such a luxury."   
  
In front of him, red brake lights glow in every lane as far as the eye can see.   
  
"And you don't even need a contraption for your phone." She is still fucking with his window. Each time, she lets in a blast of honking horns and cool evening air. "You really know how to treat yourself."   
  
He considers telling her he hadn't meant to offend her. That he can't open his mouth without saying something she finds issue with. Instead he remains silent, eyes fixed on the road ahead.   
  
The window rolls down again. Sanders leans her head out a little, frowning. "How long, do you think?"   
  
Glad for the excuse to do something with his hands—they are currently itching to be moving under her skirt—Ben opens the GPS on his phone.   
  
His stomach plummets. Behind them, someone blares on the horn.   
  
"Thirty minutes."   
  
Sanders' displeasure morphs into downright outrage. "You've got to be kidding me."   
  
"Accident." Ben squints at the tiny red exclamation points on his screen, the parkways like a web of crisscrossed crimson lines between him and her faraway neighborhood. "A few of them."   
  
"I knew I should have taken the Uber."   
  
Unexpected hurt flashes through him. "You wouldn't have been able to avoid this. Everything is jammed up for miles."   
  
"At least we wouldn't be trapped in a car together."   
  
Sanders is no longer rolling down the window. The sudden silence is deafening. Ben is tempted to throw her out into the road.   
  
"It's bad enough in the office all day," she goes on. "Especially now that I know what it's like."   
  
Something about her tone halts his escalating frustration. "What?"   
  
"With you." She is watching him. Ben's eyes are fixed firmly on the unmoving traffic, but he can feel the way she is watching. "When we're together. Alone."   
  
Ben is unable to keep his eyes on the road now. Sanders is looking at him like—not someone who is very eager to get away from him.   
  
"But now we're going to be trapped here. In a small space. With nothing to be done about it." She tilts her head. "And all I can think about is you fucking me."   
  
Just like that, he is aroused again.   
  
"We're alone now," he says.   
  
"You're driving."   
  
"Doesn't matter."   
  
"How do you plan to fuck me while you're driving?"   
  
It always does something to him, to hear her say such filthy things in that prim accent of hers. "We're going to play a little game."   
  
She scoffs. "What, like I Spy?"   
  
"Unzip your skirt."   
  
The air immediately shifts between them. Rey's mouth hangs open. Her eyes slide from Ben's face to the window at his left. "We're in public."   
  
"Hasn't stopped you before." Ben can't help his smirk. When this is only met with open-mouthed indignation, however, he does a better job of not rolling his eyes. "It's getting dark. My windows are tinted. No one will see you." He allows himself a sidelong glance. "Except for me, of course."   
  
Her eyes darken. She likes that.   
  
"Now unzip your skirt, Ms. Sanders."   
  
She likes when he calls her that even more.   
  
Her fingers find the zipper at her pencil skirt, and Ben holds his breath when she begins to drag it down her thigh. He can hardly believe how compliant she is being. With some difficulty, Ben turns his attention back to the road, where the truck in front of him has begun to creep forward.   
  
"First rule of the game. Until we arrive at your apartment, you're going to do exactly as I say."   
  
Sanders makes a noise of amusement. "Sounds like a pretty good game for you."   
  
"Don't worry. You'll enjoy it too."   
  
"Will I?" She practically oozes incredulity. "And why should I play along?"   
  
"Because if you listen, I might let you come."   
  
A heavy pause. "I don't need your permission to do that."   
  
"You do right now." Ben's voice drops low. "That's the second rule."   
  
He chances another glance at her. This is new territory. He's not entirely sure she'll be receptive to this particular deviation of intimacy. Especially with him.   
  
Sanders doesn't disappoint.   
  
She is already sitting very still, skirt zipper pulled all the way to her knees. The pupils of her eyes are wide and dark, her breath coming a little shallow. It makes Ben readjust the clutch of his necktie.   
  
"Any other rules before we get started?" She's trying to be insolent, Ben can tell, but the words are lacking any real bite.   
  
"No." Ben keeps his voice low. Careful. "Now undo the last few buttons of your shirt."   
  
She shifts a little in her seat. "Do you plan to have me naked by the time we get there?"   
  
Oh, Ben would like that very much. The image of her, nude and freckled across his black leather, is enough to make him hard—if he weren’t already straining in his slacks.   
  
"Haven't decided." He sounds much more nonchalant than he feels. "Though if you keep breaking my rules, we’ll find out very quickly.”   
  
She immediately pulls her shirt from the waistband and begins to make quick work of the lower buttons. He feels a mixture of shock and delight that she is listening. She isn’t talking back.   
  
It makes him bold enough to add, “Very good.”   
  
And Sanders—she actually wets her lips.   
  
"Because I am driving,” he continues, keeping his voice even, “you are going to touch yourself for me. Slowly. The way I would do it."   
  
"So I have to do all the hard work." She is trying to sound irritated again. It's not very effective.   
  
“You’ll do what I tell you to. And if you come in this car, it will only be because I allow it."   
  
From the corner of his eye, he sees her starting to squirm. Like she can't keep still. Unable to contain her excitement.   
  
"I want you to trail your fingers along your abdomen. Slowly."   
  
Her hand disappears up her shirt. "This is ridiculous," she mumbles.   
  
"Gently, Ms. Sanders. With just the tips of them."   
  
A few moments pass this way—Ben trying very hard to keep his eyes on the road, Sanders quiet as a mouse beside him as she does as he tells her. Practically holding her breath.

Ben is having a hard time breathing normally himself.

"Do you feel how soft your skin is there? When we get back to your apartment, I think I'll do this all over again."  
  
"Or you could just fuck me." Sanders is watching him through half-lidded eyes, he realizes. Enjoying his reaction.   
  
"Don't get ahead of yourself. I haven't even decided if I'll let you come yet."

In the silence of the car, he can hear the way her breath hitches.

"Let's find out." Ben rolls to another stop as the traffic halts again. "Slip your hand into your skirt."

The energy between them darkens, crackles with electricity. Her cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink. “Like this?”

"Not yet. Just through your underwear right now."

A soft noise of frustration. But she listens. A glance at her lap confirms that.

"I want you to rub yourself like this,” he murmurs, “until you're soaking through them."

Even in the rapidly fading light, he can see how her cheeks flush even further.

“Something wrong?” Traffic has stopped again, so Ben takes the opportunity to have a longer look at her. The expression on her face makes heat pool in his stomach, a slow realization. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?”

“I am not,” she hisses, face burning.

“Oh, this is going to be a very long ride for you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Did I say you could stop touching?”

Her hand has stilled in her lap. Biting her lip, she begins to move it again.

“Good girl.”

She glares at him, but it doesn’t have any edge to it. Her eyes are glassy with pleasure. Ben imagines what she would feel like, hot and damp through the fabric. His grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“That’s it,” he says. “Rub yourself. Firmly.”

Rey makes a small, whimpering sound that steals all the breath from his lungs.

“Work yourself up nice and good for me. Because once we take those off, I don’t know how much I’ll let you keep touching.”

“Solo—“

“Keep going, Rey. Faster now. Like you’re trying to get there as quickly as possible.”

She lets out an unsteady breath. And then her wrist starts to move.

For the first time in his life, Ben is grateful for the rush hour traffic. Because there is no way he would be able to navigate the parkway at seventy miles per hour while she’s doing _this_ right next to him. He is dizzy with the sound of her movements, the breathless little noises she makes when she can’t hold them in any longer.

In the same way, Ben is unable to contain his murmured encouragement.

"Just like that," he tells her, so softly. "Don't stop. Show me how fast you can get there."

Her head tips back as she continues. Lips parting. Ben wishes he could lean across the console and kiss them.

"Are you getting close, sweetheart?"

"Ahh— _yes—"_

"Get closer. I want you to get right up to the brink for me. Like you're afraid you might tip over."

Pressing her head back into the seat, she spreads her legs as far as they will go under her skirt while she touches herself. Ben is starting to wish he had made her strip after all.

"Solo— _oh,"_ she breathes. Face scrunched up. Rubbing so hard, like such a good girl. "Please, I—I'm so close—I don't think that I—that I can— _ahhh_ —"

"Then stop touching."

She looks wildly over at him, gasping. "Wh—what?"

"You don't have permission yet. Now move your hand away."

With a noise of pure frustration, Sanders rips her hand from her skirt. She even swears a little, a stream of curses under her trembling breaths. Her face is flushed so prettily.

"Good, Rey. Very good."

Breath coming heavy, she fixes him with a glare that can only be described as furious. He feels bad for how deeply this amuses him, but he can’t help himself.

"Don't be angry, sweetheart. This will only make it better when I finally let you."

A long, hot exhale. Ben glances over again to see her little hands fisting and unfisting restlessly at her skirt. There is the hint of something meek in her expression. Something submissive. It's becoming familiar to him now, the more often they do this.

Ben is hungry to draw it out of her.

"I think you're ready to take those off now."

She swallows visibly. Squirms a little more. "Are you going to stop me again this time?"  She is trying to sound displeased, even while her pleasure radiates off her in waves.

"I haven't decided yet."

"And why should I keep playing along?"

"Because you like this too much.” Ben can’t help his smirk. “Listening to me. Being good."

She makes an indignant noise. It's not very convincing. "I like fucking you."

“We’ll get there.” His eyes flick to the GPS on his phone. "Twenty-two minutes. But until then, you're going to do as I say."

There is a long beat of silence. As it drags on, Ben starts to fear that perhaps she doesn't want to do this after all. That he's vastly miscalculated her interest in such things.

And then her legs are folding toward her chest, hands slipping beneath her skirt. He sees a flash of bright red—his little minx has been hiding those from him all day?—and then she's pulling them past her knees, over her heels.

The vision of her wet underwear crumpled on the floor of his car somehow makes him even harder.

"I want to see," he says suddenly.

She looks at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"Peel back your skirt, Sanders. I want to see how wet you are."

"Why?"

"Shouldn't I get to look at what I've done to you?"

"You haven't done a thing to me," she seethes. "You've hardly even touched me."

Ben drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "Maybe I won't let you come after all. Then you can tell me who's doing what."

They're approaching one of the lane closures now, and traffic has crawled to a halt. He looks over to find her biting her lip. Her pupils are dark and wide.

For one long, tense moment, Ben simply holds her gaze.

"Fine," she breathes at last.

Rey finds the place where she's unzipped her skirt and lifts it, slowly, so that she reveals her bare lap underneath. Ben can see the lacy tops of her stockings, halfway up her thighs—and then smooth, creamy skin, interrupted only by the thatch of curls above her sex.

And her sex... Ben licks his lips. It is _glistening._

His expression must be obvious, loaded with all the things he wants to do to her. A slow, sly smile transforms her face. "You like that, Solo? Seeing me like this?"

She slides two fingers along her labia. Spreading herself. The air in the car suddenly seems a lot thinner.

"Look how wet I am. Don't you want to touch me?"

"I want you," he says roughly, "to follow my instructions."

She pauses. Eyes dark. Her hand lingers between her legs for a moment before she moves it back to her skirt. "Then tell me what to do."

Ben's cock twitches in his pants. He might not be able to drag this out for much longer. Somehow, he still manages to keep some semblance of authority in his voice when he begins to speak again.

"The next time you put your hand there, I want you to do it very lightly. Like you are barely touching."

She swallows, and then her fingers find her clit. He can tell from the minimal movements of her hand that she is listening.

“Lightly, Rey. Almost nothing at all. So if you were to put any less pressure, you wouldn’t even be touching.”

She lets out a shuddering exhale. Because for all her earlier protests, his girl enjoys being teased. She enjoys it so much that her chin is tipping backward again, mouth trembling ever so slightly, as she does what he tells her.

“It’s almost better this way. Isn’t it. You can feel every little movement, when there’s barely anything to feel.”

“Yes,” she breathes.

Her skirt has fallen back over her hand again, but it doesn’t matter. Her flushed little face, nodding so sweetly, is all he needs to see.

“That’s my girl. Tiny little circles. Nice and slow.”

He badly wants to reach over and touch her himself. But there is some power in guiding her this way. It makes her at once an active participant in her pleasure while she is also beholden to her own submission. She is no longer a passive actor, red-cheeked and glaring as he coaxes her toward her release _._ There is no hiding how much she wants him. No doubt about the choice she is making while she is moving her hand exactly the way he instructs her. Hanging on his every word.

“Are you ready for more, sweetheart?”

It is completely dark outside now. The traffic is starting to pick up. Ben feels a spike of rage at the way it steals his attention from the lovely, whimpering girl in his passenger seat.

“Yes,” she whines. “Please.”

“Press just a little harder then.”

A whoosh of air beside him as the breath rushes out of her. There are noises now—small, slick noises that make him dizzy with arousal.

“Don’t forget our rules, Rey. You’re not allowed to come yet.”

Sanders gives a needy little whimper. “Solo… please…”

“I didn’t say you could slow down.”

The flash of panic in her eyes when they find his face—it gives him a wicked amount of satisfaction.

“In fact,” he says, “you’re going to go faster.”

She moans. And then she is moving her wrist more rapidly, the sound of her wetness like a promise that pulses through his entire body.

“Get yourself to the edge again for me, sweetheart. I like to watch you teeter there.”

God, he loves her like this. It’s difficult not to pull to the side of the road and finish this for her. Traffic is truly picking up now, though, and he decides it’s far more important that he have her in a bed as quickly as possible.

He will enjoy getting her ready the rest of the ride, however.

“Don’t let yourself come before I say.”

“I know,” she whines.

“It’s very important that you listen.”

“I _know—_ I am, I—I’m listening—”

“You have to earn it, sweetheart. If you want me to fuck you.”

Sanders lets out a garbled noise, back arching as she works herself. “I want it _so badly—”_

“I know.” His voice is soft. Soothing. He brushes his knuckles against her cheek, and she leans into it, gasping. “Keep being good for me, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Her eyes find his, wild and liquid. Her face is flushed pink from the roots of her hair, breath coming in tiny little gasps. “I don't know if I can.”

“Of course you can.” He glances at her lap. “Don’t slow down.”

She makes a pained sound and then keeps going.

“That’s my girl.”

“I'm not your—I’m not—”

“Shhh.” His fingers find her the warmth of her cheek again. He struggles to keep his attention on the road. “Just keep going.”

She is beautiful like this. Right on the brink of her orgasm. He finds it hard not to keep looking at her. He is drawn to that flicker of fear in her face, the realization that she is very nearly _there._ That she might do something he hasn't given her permission to yet.

“Solo,” she gasps out. “Please, please, oh god, I have to stop—”

“I haven't told you to stop yet.”

“But I'm going to—please, I'm going to—”

“I haven't told you to do that yet either.”

She makes a strangled noise, head falling back against the seat. Desperation knits her brow. She looks so distraught.

Ben decides to take pity on her.

“You have been very good for me, haven't you?”

“Please,” she says on a whimper.

“Do you think you deserve to come now?”

Rey’s mouth starts to tremble. Her movements are growing messier. “Please, yes, I need to— _please—”_

“Then do it, Rey. Come for me.”

“Oh—oh _god—”_

And with a long, shuddering moan, she does exactly as he says.

Ben can’t look anywhere else as she comes apart. It is always the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—until the next time she does it for him. He will never get enough of her like this. Mouth stretched around his name, eyes squeezed tight with pleasure—she unravels for him, grateful and gasping. There is so much about this woman he will never understand. He may never know what she wants from him. What she wants him to be to her.

But this, at least, he can give her.

When Sanders looks up at him again, her eyes are soft and glassy. The loveliest smile blossoms across her face—and then morphs rapidly into shock.

“Solo!”

Ben whirls his attention back to the road and slams on the brakes—just short of rear-ending the tractor-trailer in front of them.

Behind them, brakes scream on the asphalt, followed by a series of angry honks. Ben is on the verge of leaning out his window and yelling right back—but his rage dries up when Rey bursts into laughter.

“You would make a _rubbish_ Uber driver.” Her eyes glitter with amusement. “One star.”

“Just one?” It is impossible for him to remain angry when she is smiling at him like that.

“All right.” She buttons up her shirt, considering. “Maybe another for the conversation.”

“If an Uber driver ever talks to you that way, I'll light his car on fire.” _With the driver still inside,_ he doesn't add.

“Relax.” Sanders zips up her skirt, and she gives him a smile that is—surprisingly shy. “You're the only one I do this with.”

There is the sensation of something fluttering in his chest, something warm and soft and increasingly familiar.

He reaches across the console for her hand. Her fingers fit into his so easily. Like they do this all the time. Like she doesn't want to pull away from him.

Even when Rey starts playing with his automatic windows again, it doesn't faze him. Ben smiles at the road the rest of the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was halfway through this chapter when I realized what a challenging scene this would be to write in Ben's POV—and also because it was set in a car with very little description. So it took a bit longer than I expected. Thank you for your patience <3 Next installment we'll find out what happened after that holiday party 👀


	8. this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally diving into the aftermath of chapter five. Hold on tight.

After the party, Ben doesn't sleep for three days.

On the first day, he lies to himself. _It's for the best,_ he thinks, watching the suds swirl around the shower drain. She would have grown tired of this eventually. No one has ever stuck around as long as Rey Sanders. It's not like she ever particularly _liked_ him to begin with. Of course she would be so desperate to get away from him that she would rearrange her life, her job and the meager contents of her apartment to do so.

 _It's for the best._ Water streams through his hair, just on the edge of too hot. There is the sharp sting of soap in his eye. It almost feels good. He has been walking around in skin numb and sleeping since she closed that bathroom door behind her. He wonders how long it will be until he feels nothing at all.

On the second day, he rages.

If he were at work, he might be taking out his fury on a group of unfortunate staff writers—or, more recently, on a much more willing young woman from the art department. But he isn't at work, and he isn't going to think about her. He refuses to think about her ever again. He will spread out the contents of his memory, hunt down each tiny piece of her scattered there and tear them apart until there is nothing left. Until he stops remembering.

Right now, Ben doesn't remember what life was like before her—before the late-night texts and secret glances in staff meetings, before the impression she left in the pillow on the right side of his bed. But he can become that person again—the Ben Solo that existed in this space without Rey. It can't be that difficult. He couldn't have been that unhappy.

She will be nothing to him.

On the third day, he calls her.

She doesn't pick up. So Ben calls her again. He sends her several texts— _how are you,_ and _it's cold today,_ and _is something wrong with your phone_ _—_ but she doesn't respond to those either. His silent phone is a constant presence in his pocket all day. He even skips a shower in case she chooses that precise moment to call—because what if she only lets it ring once or twice before she hangs up? Ben cannot bear to think of it, giving her any reason to believe that he is not waiting right there to answer. So he doesn't shower, and he doesn't sleep.

She doesn't call.

After that, Ben sleeps too much. He has taken the holiday week off from work, along with the rest of the staff. In his naivety, he entertained thoughts of doing things with her during the vacation. Sipping hot chocolate. Visiting the tree downtown. Maybe even introducing her to his parents.

He realizes now that these things would have never happened, even if he hadn't let her walk away from him that day. This thing they had between them—it didn't involve hot chocolate dates or marveling over a stupidly large Christmas tree. It certainly didn't involve his parents, even if he did spend the holidays with them. Ben realizes with some pain that he doesn't know a single thing about Rey's own family. Where they live. What she thinks of them. He doesn't even know where she's spending Christmas.

When he remembers to eat, Ben orders delivery. He spends the rest of his time in bed, trying not to remember the way she filled it—glaring, laughing, gasping—challenging him at every turn. Giving herself to him.

She doesn't respond to his messages, so Ben stops sending them.

The day after Christmas, he goes from room to room collecting the little bits of herself she's left here. Her toothbrush, her underwear, her endless collection of hair ties. They end up in a box in his closet, where Ben won't think about them until he returns them to her. It will be a little easier to breathe, he thinks, without her ghost following him at every turn. She will mean nothing to him soon.

As the week wears on, it doesn't get easier to breathe.

And Rey Sanders still has his entire world.

* * *

The next time he sees her, it is a Monday morning, and she is twenty-three minutes late for the editorial planning meeting.

Ben has been in an enormous state of agitation ever since he arrived at work and found her office still empty. Over the course of the following hour, he's called his uncle three times to ask if he's sure she hasn't left yet— _no, she's putting in her official two weeks today, you'll be happy to hear._

Ben isn't happy. He doesn't remember the last time he was happy, though he's pretty sure it had something to do with Rey and all the things they shared that he refuses to think about.

Twenty-two minutes into the meeting, and she still hasn't arrived. Ben considers reaching out to her, but the sight of their message thread—a solid blue wall of unanswered texts—makes him feel a little nauseous. He slips his phone back into his pocket.

Let her walk out of his life without another trace, then. See how much he cares. It wouldn't be that great a leap for her to skip town on her job without putting in her final days as well.

Mitaka has just started to launch into story assignments for the week when the door bursts open.

"So sorry for the delay." Her voice makes Ben's entire body tense with the ensuing flood of adrenaline and horror and hope. "It was my car. It broke down on the parkway."

It's been more than a week since he last saw her. Ben hasn't gone that long since she first started working here last January. Even his conference in Miami was interspersed with FaceTime calls. These past seven days have been the longest week of Ben's life, chewing him up and regurgitating him as this changed, broken version of himself.

Yet she looks exactly the same.

Her face is perfectly done up in her usual makeup—like nothing of major consequence happened to her in recent days. Like she didn't spend the holiday vacation the way Ben did, wondering how his world could be shattered so completely by the whims of one person.

He wants to ask how she is. If she was shaken from her car breaking down on a busy highway. He wants to ask why she didn't call for help. Why she didn't call back.

Instead, all he says is, "You're late."

Her gaze zeroes in on him, and she freezes halfway to the table. Something flickers across her expression before it steels over. "Didn't you hear what I just said? About my car?"

"Then perhaps you should invest in a working vehicle." He matches her glare. "For your long commute to Empire Publishing."

The deadly silence of the room is broken by a murmur of surprise. Angry color rises in Rey's cheeks.

"Well. Guess the cat's out of the bag, everyone." She is speaking too loudly for the false smile on her face. She slams her briefcase down at her seat, directly across the table from him. "I got a job offer at Empire. I'm putting in my two weeks today. I'd hoped to communicate this to you all a little differently."

"But that's not your strong suit, is it? Communication."

Her eyes blaze with fury when they lock back on his. "I thought that was your department, Mr. Editorial Director."

"Only as far as _your_ department returns the courtesy."

Everyone is looking anywhere but them. Down the table, Hux mutters, _"Jesus fucking Christ."_

"Congratulations, Rey!" Mitaka chimes in with too much enthusiasm. "When do you start?"

"Yes, when _do_ you start?" Ben's tone is scathing as he leans across the table. "Everyone would love to know."

"Two weeks."

"We all thought you might have decided to just start working there without saying goodbye."

"Nope," Poe Dameron interjects. "Literally no one else thought that."

Rey, for her part, is staring at him with her mouth dangling open, looking scandalized. "After all I've done for this company... How could you think that I would just—that I would—"

"Well then!" Hux claps his hands together, rubbing them. "Let's get back to the meeting, shall we? I'm sure Ms. Sanders will gladly give us more detail about her exit plans later today."

Mitaka jumps on the opportunity to continue story assignments for the week. The rest of the room breathes a collective sigh, getting back on track.

Ben does not look away from Rey Sanders, sitting directly across from him, for the rest of the meeting.

She doesn't look back.

* * *

Rey does not emerge from her office for the remainder of the day.

Ben is sure of this, because he has a perfect view of her door from his own office. He has kept his door wide open all afternoon—something he hasn't done since his uncle forced him to attend that "creating a friendlier workplace" seminar three years ago. At the time, his office remained open for all of a week before Hux's nonstop badgering led him to reinstitute his decidedly less friendly policy of keeping it firmly shut—following a dramatic slam in Hux's face.

Hux, blessedly, does not attempt to intrude on his vigil today. Neither does anyone else.

Including the person Ben actually wishes to see.

Lunch comes and goes without any sign of her. Ben actually considers asking her to accompany him for some food—something they've never done before, going to a public place together and sharing a meal. He knows how much she loves to eat, even if he doesn't know much else about her.

(But he knows everything about her, and that's the real problem. He knows the way she likes her eggs scrambled and gooey in the morning, how she hides her wicked sense of humor behind sarcasm and cheeky smiles, her habit of chewing her thumbnail when she's nervous. He might not know where she spends her holidays, but he knows the rest. He knows it all.)

She doesn't come out of her office for lunch, however. And Ben opens and closes their endless, one-sided conversation on his phone half a dozen times before giving up on the idea of asking her altogether.

 _It's for the best,_ he tells himself. _She deserves better._

As the day wears on without a glimpse of her, though, Ben's shame morphs into impatience before finally arriving at rage.

People are beginning to trickle out of the office now. Wishing each other a happy new year as they go. Ben hasn't wished a single person a happy 2019. He had no idea that the year he just finished will likely be the happiest of his entire miserable life.

When the hour hand passes six, most of the office is gone, and Ben is starting to wonder if she's even in there. If perhaps she slipped out during one of his particularly long blinks, or if she climbed out the window to make her escape instead.

And then her door opens.

Ben stands up so quickly he knocks over his thermos. All of his rage evaporates. The only thing that matters is that she is—she is _here._ This is his chance. He starts to move around his desk, ready to sprint after her—and is stunned to see that she does not make a beeline for the exit, but strides instead with great purpose directly toward his office.

Rey walks through the door, face dark with anger, and closes it loudly behind her.

"Sit down."

Ben, who was moving automatically to meet her, hesitates. "Rey—"

"I said, _sit down."_

Her voice is firm. Cold. Unlike any way he's ever heard it.

Slowly, he takes a seat behind his desk.

She looks—considerably less put together than she did this morning. Her face is ruddy with emotion. She looks distraught. It makes Ben's heart crack and splinter in his chest.

"Rey. Please." He feels deflated, seeing her like this. "I only want to talk."

"No." She flips the lock on the door. "That's not what this is. We're not about to start now."

"Rey—"

"No first names." She unfurls a finger. "That was the first rule."

His surprise is so profound he can only gape at her. Of all the things he expected her to confront him with, this definitely wasn't it. He hasn't thought about those ridiculous rules they laid out since—well, since they started breaking them.

"Now take off your tie."

Ben blinks. "Excuse me?"

"How many times have I listened to you?" she hisses, eyes flashing. "How often have I offered you my absolute trust? _Take off your damn tie."_

His fingers shake as they find the silky fabric around his neck, loosening it. Pulling it free. Rey watches the movement with fire in her eyes before unfurling another slim finger.

"No bullshit outside of work." She punctuates this with a bitter laugh. "You ruined that one pretty quick."

 _Ruined._ This is not a word Ben would use to describe anything about their relationship—except for the way her silence has utterly destroyed him these past ten days.

"Your shirt. Unbutton it."

There is something humiliating about this. Her eyes are hard and disapproving as they watch him strip. His punishment, for daring to love her. When he arrives at the final button, the shirt dangles open for a moment before she gestures for him to remove that too.

"No kissing." Rey's fists clench and unclench at her sides. "I should have known that one would go quickly. There's no other good way to shut you up, is there?"

He thinks he might throw up. He wants nothing more than to kiss her right now. It's the only time things feel right between them, letting their bodies say what their voices won't.

Or maybe he was the only one feeling those things all along.

"Your undershirt, Solo."

Ben tries to communicate the depth of his pain through his eyes, grasping desperately for some level of connection with her. "Please. Sweetheart. If you'll just listen to me—"

"Don't you _dare_ call me that." For a moment, Ben fears she might actually strike him. And then he notices the way her eyes are shining. Wet with tears. "Don't."

He almost says it again without meaning to. Silently, he lifts the white shirt over his head. Leaving his chest bare.

"Roll back from the desk. I want to see you."

When he does, Rey finally moves away from the door. Walks around the desk. She looks him up and down with not a shred of affection in her face.

A fourth finger.

"Nothing gross." Her lips curl in a humorless mockery of a smile. "Nothing kinky. Nothing with my ass. I bet you never intended to follow _those,_ with all the weird shit you like to do."

For the first time since she walked in, anger slices through him like a hot knife. "You enjoyed that too."

"It doesn't matter." She waves her fingers in front of him. "These were our rules, Solo. We had an agreement. To prevent _this_ from happening."

Ben doesn't know what _this_ is. He doesn't understand anything she's saying right now. The only thing he understood about her ridiculous rules was that he needed to follow them in order to be with her—and then that she seemed hellbent on breaking them all as quickly as possible.

"We can't forget the most important one." Rey's eyes flash as she takes a final step toward him, her knees knocking against his. "No pretending. That was supposed to be the best part, wasn't it? That we didn't have to pretend to like each other." Furious tears spill over her eyelashes, streaking down her face. "And we ended up doing it anyway."

"I wasn't," Ben croaks. He thinks his heart might stop beating completely if she doesn't let him touch her. If she tries to walk away again. "Pretending. I was never pretending with you."

"Don't give me that." Her hands find his belt, yanking it roughly through the loops. "I don't want that right now. I want what this was supposed to be all along."

She throws the belt across the room. The leather smacks loudly against his wall before it thuds to the floor.

"Something to keep us from each other's throats." Rey is undoing her own shirt now. Ripping at the buttons. "Because we can't stand each other. That's all this ever was, right?"

"You're wrong. It was always—so much more than—"

"Shut up." Her shirt flutters to the floor, leaving her in a bra. "Today, we're going to follow _my_ bloody rules for once."

Rey pushes his chair further backward with surprising strength. Her face is wet with angry tears.

"I want you to fuck me like you hate me, Solo."

Ben fingers clench at his sides. His own rage is starting to build again—the aching, burning throb that used to follow him wherever he went, before she came along. "That's what you want?"

"Yes." She steps between his legs. Grabs his hands and places them roughly on her waist. "That's all this is."

The feeling of her skin beneath his fingers evaporates whatever is left of his restraint. Ben digs them into her sides, as if to reassure himself that she is here—that this is real. And then he yanks her bodily forward.

"I thought you didn't want to pretend."

She is trembling, he realizes. Shaking like a leaf. "Don't."

"I'm not going to pretend that I hate you."

 _"Don't,_ Ben."

She has started crying again. Something sharp and jagged twists in his chest. He pulls her closer, so that her smooth stomach is just a few inches from his face. Ben leans forward and plants a slow kiss above her navel.

Rey whimpers.

"I've never hated you," he rasps against the soft skin of her stomach. "I could never."

"Well I do." Her voice cracks with pain. "I really do, Ben."

And something inside him snaps.

"Fine. All right. You want to know what I hate about you?"

He pushes himself out of the chair, towering over her. Her damp little face goes from shock to fear to anger in the space of a few seconds—before he shoves her back against his desk.

"I hate that I never know what you want from me. That I can't say anything right." He crowds over her half-naked body, breathing heavily. "I hate that I can't stop _thinking_ about you. Every waking moment of every fucking day, I'm thinking about you."

Her eyes are very wide, staring up at him. Ben can't look at her wet face anymore, so he hoists her onto his desk—a better angle for him to scrape his teeth against her neck. The way he knows she likes.

"I hate that you act like you hardly know me," he snarls. "That I'm not supposed to talk to you around everyone else."

His mouth on her throat draws a gasp from her, little fingers scrabbling for purchase against his arms. "Ben—"

"I'm not finished," he hisses against her ear. "I hate pretending that I don't want to kiss you stupid when you walk out of that elevator every morning. That I don't spend half my day trying to come up with a reason—any reason at all—just to talk to you. But you know what I hate most of all?"

"Ben, please—" Her voice is wet with tears, hands tugging at his hair. But he isn't finished yet. He pulls back to look her straight in the eye.

"Falling asleep without you every night. Wondering where you are. What you're doing. If you would even answer, if I wasn't too much of a coward to call you."

The way she's looking at him right now—Ben would give anything in the world to kiss her. To close the space between them and watch as her pain melts back into that easy thing between them. Smoothing over their hurt like it always does.

But she doesn't want him to kiss him. She doesn't want any of this—she's said so in a thousand different ways. It makes something hot and unfamiliar prick at his eyes. He looks at her mouth, always too far away from his own, and his voice cracks.

"Everything else about this—I hate it all. But I could never hate you." Ben touches the dampness on her cheek. "Never."

"God _damnit,_ Ben. This is—it's _exactly_ what I was talking about." Tears stream down her face as she shakes her head. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

"Well it happened," Ben says roughly. "From the very first day I saw you, it happened."

He doesn't know who starts the kiss. One moment they're simply standing there, not kissing—and the next she is everywhere, his senses overwhelmed by teeth and tongue and _home._

Because that's what kissing Rey is like. Tumbling headfirst into a place where he finally, completely belongs.

She cries and hiccups into his mouth as her fingers find his slacks. Fumbling with the buttons. Ben hisses at the brush of her knuckles against the swell of him, grasping. Pulling.

“I thought we—” He can hardly talk, her mouth on his every few words. “Your rules. We weren’t supposed to kiss.”

“Fuck my stupid rules,” she gasps against his mouth.

It’s not enough. His hands slide up her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I called, Rey. I texted, and you—you didn't answer."

"I was angry.”

“I couldn't fucking _sleep.”_ Ben can’t keep himself from kissing her anymore, so he does it again. And again. “I couldn’t—do _anything_ , thinking you were—that you thought—”

“You acted like I meant nothing to you.” She is crying again, and Ben hates himself. He really does. “Like this was nothing.”

"I don’t know how to act. I don't know what you want. You—you still won’t tell me what you fucking _want.”_

He pushes up her skirt, kneading her thighs. He knows, at least, what she wants right now. Even through her tears, he can see the way she needs him.

In the end, Ben doesn’t fuck her like he hates her. No. He strips her, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of her to hide from him. Until her face is dry and her hands are trembling with something that isn’t anger.

When she's finally naked, he spreads her thighs and licks between them until her hiccups turn to whimpers turn to breathless little moans. Until her legs are weak and trembling, locked around his head.

And he doesn't let her look away, when he presses himself against the wet heat of her slit. Pushing inside her.

It can't be comfortable, the hard edge of the desk, and there's no where for her fingers to find purchase. They settle on his arms, gripping too tight as he slides inside. It takes a moment of adjustment—he's too tall, and the angle isn't quite right—but then she lifts her knees and shifts her hips so that— _yes._ God, yes.

It's easy, after that, to push all the way inside her. To make his hips slap flush against her own.

"Oh." Her head tips back for a moment, eyes fluttering shut—and he allows it, if only so that he can drink her in. Every freckled inch of her.

"Good?" he asks her, trembling on the edge of it. Like he's asked her so many times before.

Rey gives him a tight, breathless little nod. "Good."

Ben doesn't fuck her like he hates her. When he begins to thrust, he holds her as close as he can, grasping at her body like he's afraid she'll disappear. He does everything she asks him to—even when it's _harder,_ because she loves it that way—even when she brings his hand to her hair and makes him _squeeze._

He does the things she doesn't ask, too. He kisses the freckles on her nose. He strokes the bundle of nerves between her legs until she is somehow even messier around him. He tells her, as best he can, all the things he doesn't hate about her. Breath ragged, tripping over his words, he tells her.

His keyboard has clattered to the floor by the time they're done, along with almost everything else atop his desk. Ben doesn't bother to pick it up—only collects her in his arms so that he can carry her to the couch in the corner.

She is as beautiful there, slumped against his chest, as the first time he ever had her.

"You have come to mean a tremendous amount to me." He doesn't know how he manages to speak. He left most of his capacity for coherent thought somewhere on his desk, which he will never ever be able to look at again without remembering her sweet little face, contorted with pleasure while he fucked her against it.

Rey glances up at him. The smallest, shiest smile curls her lips. She looks almost disbelieving as she reaches up to touch his face.

Her fingertips pass over his skin so lightly that it almost tickles.

"I never thought I'd say this. But you were my favorite part about working here, Ben Solo."

She deserves better. She really does.

Ben decides he will try anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did my butt stuff drabble collection get so damn angsty??
> 
> Feel free to come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne).
> 
> Thank you guys for all your kudos, comments and general enthusiasm for this story <3 It's been a fun experiment and I'm grateful you've been along for the ride.


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